


Stockholm

by BethylLivesOn



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Childbirth, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Mentions of Rape, Orgasm, Out of Character, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Threats of Violence, Unprotected Sex, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex, graphic depictions of childbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethylLivesOn/pseuds/BethylLivesOn
Summary: She takes care of him every night – and they don’t even speak ‘cause she knows that he only gets the black cup of coffee – no milk, and no sugar.He never eats, and she’s given up telling him that he can’t be smokin’ in here, so now she just brings him the hot cup and doesn’t begin to let her eyes flick to his before he leaves the cash on the table and starts out the door.--Extreme out of character elements for Daryl. Mentions and acts of rape/non concentual sex
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	Stockholm

**Author's Note:**

> I based this song loosely on “How do you get em back” by David Ramirez and “Killer+The Sound” by Phoebe Bridgers and Noah Gundersen. I recommend listening before you read ;)  
> \--  
> Please be advised that this story is going to be a roller coaster. One moment great, the next not. Very out of character for Daryl. Please see tags and warnings. Enjoy!

She takes care of him every night – and they don’t even speak ‘cause she knows that he only gets the black cup of coffee – no milk, and no sugar.

He never eats, and she’s given up telling him that he can’t be smokin’ in here, so now she just brings him the hot cup and doesn’t begin to let her eyes flick to his before he leaves the cash on the table and starts out the door.

She couldn’t even tell anyone what time he leaves – because she doesn’t know. She occupies herself with the other customers, quick on her heels in hopes to make more money. But honestly, she doesn’t _let_ herself know. A burning fire in her belly _wants_ to know.

Beth isn’t sure when she started wondering _why_ she doesn’t let herself wonder what time he leaves. She thinks maybe it’s the time she sees him on a phone call with someone who clearly infuriates him, and she isn’t sure that the way she feels as she watches him is a way she had ever felt before. Is it _intrigue?_ Is it desire? Is the black denim ripped up jacket he wears every time the reason her belly burns when she senses him around? She’s come to study this denim jacket because the only thing she can seem to focus on is his torso. Looking anywhere near his face never seems to be a suitable idea. Maybe he _intimidates_ her. Today, she doesn’t mean to, but before she can look away – her eyes meet with his face and most importantly those blue _eyes_ that seem like pathways to his soul, and she feels something… _different_. The moment she watches his nostrils flare she thinks it might be _fear_.

This has never occurred to her before, and suddenly it was hitting her in the abdomen with a baseball bat, like a sucker punch to her airway and in an instant she feels like she found the last piece to a thousand piece puzzle.

It was like lighting a match under her foot – the need and the want to move, but the distress to do so. It was like stepping into quick sand, feeling suddenly paralyzed – her legs feel like lead and they tingle in a way that’s almost painful. It tugged at some fire burning in her gut to watch him snarl into his phone, and if she had enough courage, she would walk right up to him and tell him that whatever he was dealin’ with was not as bad as it might seem.

That was Beth trying to be typical Beth. To _save_ everybody. Then again, she was always puttin’ her nose in places it had no business bein’ in. Had gotten her into trouble several times that she could count. Probably other times that she _couldn’t_. She knows better – knows that this man doesn’t want her two-sense. Knows that he doesn’t even want her sly smile in his direction silently telling him that it was _maybe_ okay. And maybe that’s why she’s drawn to him. She feels like there is this pull that she has and she wants to give into the pull…but she knows she can’t—or _shouldn’t_.

She ain’t never seen him with anyone either. Never a lady, or a man – maybe even a friend or a co-worker…maybe he was an only child brought up a hard way. She wishes so bad that she had the valor to ask him these questions. No questions asked as to _why_ – but the hope that he would answer her anyway. Same as before…she knows _better_.

Every time she thinks that maybe she would just ask him how his day was as she sets his coffee down, her nerve gets the better of her, or he disappears before she gets the chance. It burns a hole in her mind to know that she spends so much time thinking about this man who she knows absolutely _nothing_ about, and who doesn’t care to know anythin’ about her in return. She sometimes lies awake at night wonderin’ if he’s ever even given her a second thought. Wonders if he looks at her when she walks away – if he leaves and wonders if his actions were too harsh. She _still_ knows better, though.

And Beth had had boyfriends in her life. A few, actually. But not one can she think of where she wondered these kinds’a things. Not one boy had grasped her mind like this man had. Never had she put her mind to such use wondering and hoping about someone before. It was like a fantasy she played in her mind over and over about how things might go if she ever made a move. But maybe that is all it could be – a fantasy. Never seemed to care if they thought her dress was a pretty length, or if they liked the loose strands of hair that would fall from her bun throughout the long day.

Sometimes, she’ll roll a palm down the side of her back when she turns away so it’ll grab his eye so she knows he’ll watch – just so he could _see_ her. It’s a hard pill to swallow to imagine all of her efforts going unwanted.

Today, though. _Today was a different day_.

The air was cooler. The thermometer read 44 degrees in Fahrenheit. A strange and uncomfortable thing to feel in the end of the fall in Georgia, last day in November. She’d left the farm that morning and almost wished she had brought a coat with her. Silly, though. She’d always been the first one at the diner in the mornings – and this was the way she’d liked it. She’d set the place up and when people decided to show for the day, things would be ready. The napkins were where she knew they’d be, and she didn’t have to fumble for the mugs when coffee was ordered.

The air was light and cool, and she couldn’t help but smile when the breeze hit her skin. Walking into the diner _this_ morning, she thought that maybe today was the day that she would finally talk to him. Maybe today she would break the ground and it would change her for the better. Maybe…

She feels the same burn when she turns her key in the diner lock in the door and it swings open. _That belly burning fire_. She feels that sense. She can sense him and she isn’t sure its welcomed. She notices that the door doesn’t swing shut behind her and her senses tell her to tense, but something in her body so easily turns around. She can smell him – the familiar mix of cigarette ash and leather and she knows he’s chose his vest today and not that denim jacket. Her belly burns like fire. A different fire this time. A fire that makes her insides twist into knots and a lump to form in her throat. Her limbs feel heavy like she knows the impending dread, but in that moment the quickness of her actions leave no time to change her mind. When she looks up and she sees…her mind seems to stop. Something she questioned and wished a hundred times would happen. She looks into his eyes, and the fierce passion staring back at her almost scares her. She almost drops the keys that she’s holding, and she consciously moves her arm to the closest booth and places them down.

She isn’t sure of any noise around her as she realizes that this first glance is not the one she’d hoped for what seemed like an eternity. An overwhelming feeling in her body forces her to turn around, and as she does she can hear him grunt behind her and she’s _afraid._ She runs forward towards the counter and he’s on his way around the other side before she can say no.

She realizes at this moment how much larger than her he is. He’s brooding and angry, and she doesn’t know what brought him here to this. Why today? Why her? But then she thinks…why _not_? Who is she? A young girl in a small town with a few people in her family. That’s who she was. Not some special girl with a family full of doctors and lawyers. She was just a grain of sand in a mountain. No one was calling the cavalry if she wasn’t around anymore.

She suddenly realizes that every hope and dream she’d had for him has been crushed. This fear was not one she’d expected, and it unquestionably was not wanted. It was like the dread you feel when you hear of a death – or a pet running from the front door. The feeling like you want to move but your feet are stuck in cement. Like you want to scream but you have no voice. She was not looking to figure him out anymore. No longer was she interested in getting to know his life story. She in this moment already knew all of it, all that she cared to know, and before she can open her mouth she watches his feet move and he’s quicker than her mind can process and now he’s in front of her grabbing her arm and putting his hand harshly over her mouth. Her mind wonders _why_ she had loved opening the diner alone. Why was she so incredibly lonely and pathetic that she needed to arrange the place before anyone else got there? She wasn’t hired to make the place pretty.

Hell – maybe she actually _was_.

His hand is strong against her mouth and its painful how tightly he’s gripping her and she feels herself groan against his palm and before she can realize what’s actually happening she’s aware of the hot tears pouring out of her eyes and she’s struggling in his grasp and its effortless and she knows that he’s not letting her go. All this time she’s been giving him enough to let him know everything about her to come here and do this to her.

He grunts in her ear and she wishes in that moment that he would actually say something – tell her why or where they’re going. Wants him to tell her if he plans on killing her. Can someone actually prepare for that? Could she mentally prepare for her life to end this way? By the hands of someone she did not know? Someone who had dirt in his hands and under his fingernails? _Someone like him_. Someone she had wished so badly to notice her and when he finally had – this was his way of showing her.

She’s trying to say _please_ – trying to beg him to let her go. Knows there is little point but how can she _not_ try? At the very least, she hopes he would let up on his grip – it was _killing_ her.

Once they’re back outside, he drags her to his truck and finally he lets go of her face and she _screams_. She screams so loud it hurts. Feels like she’s ripping her vocal cords and tearing the flesh from her throat. She cries harder. Sobbing, screaming…pleading for someone to save her. All she wants in that moment is home. Is warmth and her daddy and _home_.

_Home may be a place she would never see again._

He opens the door with his free hand and grabs her face again after he throws the door open so hard that the metal creaks and it seems like the worst sound she’s ever heard. He whips her face into his face with his hand clutching so tightly at her cheeks and her lips are too tightly pressed together to scream anymore and she’s almost grateful. All she can do is breathe out of her nostrils and concentrate on not hyperventilating long enough to _maybe_ still get away.

_Someone had to want breakfast, right?_

He’s seething in her face – so close and she knows how badly she’d wanted this. How many nights she stayed awake wondering what his skin looked like this close up. She hates herself for wondering.

She looks up into his eyes and isn’t sure of what she sees. The pathway to his soul is speaking to her but she can’t form the words in her brain. It’s like he’s pleading with her but telling her that it isn’t okay at the same time and her body can’t handle the confusion all at once. He breaks his stare from her eyes and she feels him look down at her lips and she twitches as he aggressively tells her to “shut the _fuck_ up”, and the feeling it sends through her body has her knees weak and before she knows it, he’s the only one supporting her weight. Her knees bend and if not for his vice grip on her arm she would be on the ground.

The tears have seemed to stop and she’s staring at him and as she feels his grip on her face loosen she musters up all she can and _spits_ in his face.

“ _Fuck_ you!” She shocks herself when the word passes her lips and she knows her daddy would shun her had he heard, and she knows she should be fearful of the consequence but it’s the only thing to come to mind that she can spit at him to make him know how angry she is. How she _really_ feels about him. How _worthless_ she thinks he is. How disgraceful. How much _hatred_ her body possesses. How much the word sends butterflies to parts of her she doesn’t dare speak though – that’s a whole other story. One she doesn’t care to share. Not with him. Not anymore.

She watches his mouth twitch up into what she thinks is a smirk as he grunts and spits on the ground as he tosses her into the passenger seat of the truck and she’s squirming away but before she gets close he presses his hand to her chest and forces her _so hard_ back into the seat that it feels like her chest is being crushed and all the air forces out of her mouth in a choking sob. She watches his other hand wipe his face of her saliva and before she can say anything he runs his hands through both sides of her hair to cradle her face, and she cringes at the wetness on her ear. He brings his face close to her and he’s looking into her eyes so deeply that she almost thinks he can see her soul – her core – the _fire_ burning inside of her.

She can’t look away and she stares right back and he opens his mouth and she doesn’t expect it.

“I’m _savin’_ you, girl.” He grumbles – almost a whisper and if she’s any bit smart she can sense the _pain_ in his voice. _Saving her?_ The grit of the underbelly of the words and it almost makes her sad for him and it really almost makes her want to furrow her brows and talk sweet nothings to him, but _she knows better_.

He’s staring at her for what feels like an eternity before hanging his head and begging her. It’s like his eyes are asking her instead of his lips and she’s almost convinced. She almost believes that for whatever reason, this is right, and that she should just listen.

She watches his face closely and she can see the same fear in his eyes as she feels in her own. Suddenly her heart feels like its going to stop beating and she can’t help but let out a painful sob out of her hoarse throat. “ _Please_ just come with me, girl. Don’t wanna hurt ya.” She watches the emotion sweep across his face and she thinks that maybe she is certain now that there is in fact fear in his own eyes, and that scares her even more. For a splitting moment of a second, she lets go of her fear. As quickly as it comes it goes, and she remembers that she isn’t alone in the world. What will her Daddy think? Maggie? Shawn? They only had each other since Mama died and – how could they go on without her?

Her chest is heaving with anxiety and pain and she can’t stop herself before she’s laughing. She has no idea what she’s laughing at. Maybe the pure psychotic-ness of the current situation. She truly is not sure. She feels the spasms of her throat pushing up into her mouth and the giggling is taking control of her and she feels like her body is outside of itself, her arms feel like Jell-O.

What was happening to her?

He reaches around her and grabs the seat belt and straps her in and she isn’t even trying to fight him. What is the sense? Who’s around? The bunnies and the deer ain’t goin’a come to her rescue.

He looks back up at her and gingerly asks her where they keep the canned food. Her head spins to him at the sincerity, and she almost forgets.

She’s looking back at him but she can’t see him and she thinks that maybe her blood pressure is just too high and she’s havin’ a hematoma or somethin’ her daddy said once.

“The back pantry has a code on it and I dunno it.” She feels like every ounce of energy she had in her body is gone with her reply and she doesn’t think she could run if she wanted to.

He looks at her again and when he’s back in her face, she can see him again.

“Baby, you’ll die if you run.” Her eyes are ablaze and the sudden rage puts a smile on her face. Sickening, she knows. She wonders if he can read her mind. “Where am I goin’?” She says meekly and she’s still smilin’ at him…completely unaware of any sort of _what the fuck am I doin’ right now_?

He drops a knife in her lap and she looks down at it and back up to him and he brings his hand back into her hair and he kisses her. _Hard_. Almost painful. Just as quickly as he’s there he’s gone and she watches him stride back into the diner. _What the fuck_? What in the absolute fuck of nuts are going on here? Who is he and who is she and what has happened between yesterday and today? Her eyes drift back down to the knife in her lap and she fingers it with her pointer finger and she runs it across the blade, and she notices blood. Was it a need to feel? To make sure that she was still here? To make sure that her mind wasn’t completely obliterated? Her finger suddenly burns and she curses down at her skin and brings it up to her lips to soothe the throbbing stinging of the slice. Sucking her flesh into her lips, she closes her eyes for moment. Tries to breathe in deeply, but she crush from his hand makes it hard to get air all the way down her lungs. She winces and opens her eyes slowly, feeling almost intoxicated. Like she had just ran a marathon.

She brings her finger out of her mouth to see how deep the gash is and she notices that it’s a surface cut and for that she’s thankful. She rests her head back onto the headrest and it feels like the most heavenly thing she’s felt in so long. Her hand goes back into her mouth and at that same time tilts her head to her right and she glances outside of the passenger window and that’s when she sees it.

_Someone._

She doesn’t know what she’s doing when she grasps the handle and yanks it open and she almost falls out of the car. She picks the knife up off the ground that had fallen at her haste, and she gets her footing.

The image is blurry, but she knows it’s _someone_ and she starts flailing her arms – her voice too weak to yell for help. Her voice strains to tell them ‘over here’ but it comes out weak and raspy and the person is getting closer and she notices they seem to be hurt too. Limping a bit – but walking with a decent pace like they’re intent on coming to her aid. She almost smiles and she’s walking towards the person when she notices that it looks like it too is trying to speak – it’s mouth opening and closing but no words coming.

Her brow furrows when she notices the blood all over the person – who she can now see is a woman’s – clothes. She can faintly see what looks like 3 more people a good distance behind her. She hesitantly steps backwards and loses her footing and falls back onto the hard gravel. The blow to her bottom and forearms hurt and she can’t help but whine out in pain – loudly as she tries instinctively to sit up and she manages to scoot her body backwards and tries to ask if they’re okay, but her voice is weak and she can barely hear herself. The woman is getting closer and she can hear the moans coming from her and she notices that she blood all over her is the affect of a fatal wound. She glances back to the diner and she doesn’t see him. Her body is tired and she can’t gain footing and the woman is getting closer and she screams.

A blood curdling, _terrifying_ scream.

A _help me_ scream. An _I can’t save myself_ scream. A baby _, please save me, I’m gonna die_ scream.

She’s trying her best to move, and she gains control of her legs enough to get up onto her feet and she’s running…fast. Into the diner is where her feet bring her and she slams the door shut behind her and the woman’s arm gets stuck in the door frame and she looks up to her eyes and she loses it. Her ears are ringing and she can hear him running up from behind her and he can do whatever he wants to her because she is positive that she can not feel.

He’s at the door as she watches the woman gnaw and grope at him, while she watching through glassy eyes feeling like she’s lost her mind. She thinks she tells him there’s more but she isn’t sure because her mind is so loud, her ears ringing and she can’t see straight. She watches him stab his knife through her skull and she watches her fall to the ground and as he turns around she sees him and he's angry at her. She looks up at him from the ground and she’s clutching her knife and she can feel the slime of her blood on the leather handle. She extends her arm to him to give him the weapon and before she can blink he’s on the floor grabbing at her arm flipping her hand over and the metal clanks hard on the floor and she’s just staring at him.

She watches him go outside and she doesn’t know if she feels while she watches him kill the other 3 people. Are they people? Of course they’re people…but why were they trying to kill them? She felt like she was dizzy and sick at the same time and she almost feels relief when she watches him walk back into the diner. She looks up at him and she can see.

His brow is furrowed and he’s _worried_.

“What the fuck you thinkin'?! You deaf? Didn’ you fuckin’ hear me before? Told ya bout this shit, girl!” He screaming at her and she hears him through clogged ears.

“I---I thou--I thought she—they I wanted her to help…me.” She says.

“You cain’t fuckin’ leave me. Don’t you see?! Fuckin’ look! Look at this bitch! Look at the rest’a those fuckers! Look at em’!” He’s seething at her and he goes back to the door and drags the dead woman inside and she’s kicking her feet away and she’s screaming “NO!” Screaming so loud that her throat feels like its on fire, but she’s already seen.

He stops and he drops the corpse and it hits the floor with a thud and Beth closes her eyes and starts to cry. Crying because she’s terrified. This is not her world…not anymore.

He extends his arm down to her and she grabs it without hesitation. Her head is fuzzy and she can’t exactly see straight and she looks up at him for something, anything. To tell her what the hell is going on and what that…thing is. Why he’s here and why he’s telling her these things. She doesn’t have the time to ask before he’s hoisting her up in his arms and placing her back in the truck. He tells her to stay there while he gets food and she only nods. She can feel the hot tears streaming down her face and she can feel his gaze on her, but she can’t bring herself to look back at him in this moment. In this moment, she needs to hear nothing. Only her own thoughts to drive her brain mad.

He shuts the door, and while she’s afraid, she’s also numb and she doesn’t know where to go from here. She knows she can’t leave, and so she stays. She waits for him to pack things into the truck. Her mind wanders. To her daddy and her sister and her brother and where they are and why hadn’t she said goodbye to them? Why weren’t they around when she left? She barely notices as he jumps back into the truck and she looks over and realizes she didn’t imagine this when she feels her hand squeeze. Her eyes flow down to her fingers and she sees his tangled in hers before she feels the gas move the truck and he backs out of the diner lot and heads on the road.

He’s driving and she feels limp in the passenger seat and they’ve been drivin’ a while and she’s seen more a them things and they don’t stop for nothin’. She doesn’t look at him anymore and she knows he’s tried glancing over at her but she just _can’t_. Her entire world is gone and she wonders where her daddy is or where Maggie is because she hasn’t seen them since last night before she went to bed. How could the world change in twelve hours?

Her own mind is too much for her and she falls asleep.

* * *

She wakes with his hand on her arm shaking her and she glances over at him and he’s got his arm on the steering wheel but he isn’t looking at her. She sluggishly sits up from her slumped position in the car seat and she rubs her eyes before trying to see clearly. She yawns and squints through hazy eyes and she can see the snow falling onto the ground and she almost smiles. She also sees the lake calm and she sees the ducks swimming freely and then she glances to the left and she sees it.

A beautiful cabin made of wood and she doesn’t even notice that he’s slipped his hand underneath her palm and she shoots her head in his direction and asks what this is.

“ _Home_.” He grumbles.

She clenches her eyes shut and yanks her hand out from above his sweaty palm. That’s when he jerks his head in her direction and before she can yelp he’s got his hand tangled in the back of her head pulling her to look at him. He’s an inch from her mouth and he tells her to be grateful.

 _Grateful_?

Her belly is burning again and she feels the acid in her throat. She’s too tired to fight.

“Fuck you.” She repeats and he grunts, spitting between her spread knees. He lets go of her hair and throws the door open, jumping out of the truck. She stays still and looks around. She wipes her hand on her jeans, getting his muck off of her skin. She doesn’t see much – land and trees and the lake with a bridge across, and the cabin in the middle. She does however notice the smoke coming from the chimney. She turns her head a bit to her left to hear what he’s doing in the bed of the truck and she hears the cans ringing together. She watches him walk towards the cabin with a box full of cans and knows he took the stock from the diner.

She takes a deep breath and moves her hand to the door handle, opening it gently. She looks around once again, making sure there aren’t any…people, and she shuts the door quietly. She walks ‘round the back of the truck and she sees the four other boxes and when she tries to grab one, she winces at the weight on her pained arm. She notices the stinging on her elbows and knows that she banged herself up on the gravel back there.

She can hear him approaching and when he comes around to meet her, he touches her arm and pulls her face towards him once again, this time – _gentler_.

“Don’t pull that shit again. You saw that girl back there? She could’a eaten ya. Then what would all’a this shit’a been for?” He’s watching her eyes and every time she tries to look away, he follows her with his face.

She jerks her head straight and looks to him. “Why me?” She asks, meekly.

He’s silent for a moment and she tries to free herself from his grasp, but he pulls her back to him this time almost tender, moving his hand to cup her cheek. The warmth almost feels comforting and she rests her head against his palm for a brief moment before whisking her eyes closed quickly and taking a deep breath and opening them again. Could he just let her go? After all of this? What even _is all of this?_

“Cause I seen the way you look at me. Ain’t no secret. You _needed_ me.” He says almost quietly, but the grit in his voice shakes her to her core. Keeps her fire burning. _He was right_.

He lets her go and steps back to watch her and she eventually looks over to the bed of the truck and tells him she tried to take a box, but it was too heavy. She thinks she hears him laugh. Grunt maybe. He tells her to go to the house and keep the fire burning. Hands her a ring of keys, then the knife from his back and he grasps her hand as he slips it to her. She looks at it in her hands and then back at him, and he raises his eyebrows in the direction of her belt. She slips it between her belt and her jeans and the cover catches on the seam.

“Be smart, girl.” He tells her.

Their eyes linger and she wonders what’s there. Because she knows for her it’s more – hopes for him it is too. She walks around him, and she blinks twice before turning around and looking back at him. She’s about 2 feet away from him – she’s only taken 2 steps. Maybe she’s hesitant, maybe she feels safer with him…maybe she’s afraid. Afraid to _lose_ him. He looks back at her, and they say nothing to one another, but the gaze that lingers for what feels like an eternity says enough is what she thinks. Her legs start to carry her, breaking away from the gaze before turning back around to walk towards the cabin.

It’s a way ahead of her – the cabin. If that’s what you can call something like this. She hears the snow crunch under her feet, and she looks down at the white sparkly freeze and smiles. It’s beauty in pure form. Undisrupted and unpolluted. Doesn’t even realize she’s freezing. It’s only when her foot hits hard when she notices the bridge in front of her leading over the lake underneath of her. Her feet carry her across until she’s able to see the cabin in clear sight. She notices that there are large latticed windows, but they’re heavy black and she can’t see through them. She reaches the steps and she takes a deep breath before going up. The porch alone is extravagant, tall with wooden beams, and it’s tree logs that frame the door. Opening the door with the key he’d slipped her, it opens and it’s _heavy_. She takes in the new dark brown floorboards and wonders if he’s built this place. Knows he has. She can tell by the scent of wood that things are not old. Things look strategic, and there are huge beams throughout the whole house. The windows are not black on the inside and she can see out of them. She’s not sure she’s ever seen a more beautiful site then the one she see’s outside. Snow in November in Georgia – then again, they could not even be in Georgia anymore for all she knows. She softly steps further inside and runs her hand along the timber of the walls and the sturdy feel of them tingle her body for what reason she doesn’t know. She thinks because it’s a feeling of safety and _home_. Of warmth and contentment. To her – it looks like it was done by someone who knew that they were doing – someone who planned for something bigger.

Then she wonders – if he planned this. It didn’t explain the people with the dead faces but she still can’t help her mind wonder if he planned all of this out. To take her. To bring her here. To seclude her from her life and make her his. To kill her when he was done with her. She can’t seem to control the places that her mind goes.

She carefully walks into the living space and takes in the plush couch of brown leather and she runs her hand over it, bringing the closest blanket up to her face and snuggling the warmth. She inhales deep and lets the heat from the fire envelope her body. She feels a calm over her, opening her eyes to glance around. She takes in the fur rugs and the fur draped over the other side of the large sofa – both of which look thoroughly made by hand. There are rocks making some of the walls and the fire burns so quietly and sweet that she almost wants to relish in being here.

It’s when she looks back to the door to see the other side of the cabin when she sees him walk through the door. He watches her as she walks around, moving closer to the kitchen and he shuts the door behind him. She watches him then, the metal bars he brings down and latches closed. He prepared for this, there was no doubt in her mind. She takes this moment to steal a glance at his vest and the stitched wings on the back. She wonders if he’d been in a gang. Wonders if angels meant something to him. And she wants to scorn herself for caring to wonder.

He stays still for a moment after putting the heavy box down onto the rocky countertop and she’s watching when he turns back around to meet her. She can feel her body tense and her arms unfold and fall to her sides as she watches him right back.

His face looks worn and tired and she knows it’s got to be past the afternoon. Her sleep in the truck must have been a while from where they came from, and she really has no idea where they are now and to be honest she isn’t sure that she even truly cares. She can remember him trying to mess with the radio in the truck and the static that was on every station turn. She remembers him slamming his fist into the steering wheel when he was tired of the same result. She remembers placing her hand over his on the station wheel and moving it off so that she could turn it off. She knows she must have fallen asleep some time after that. Her mind brings her back to where her feet stand and she locks eyes with him. She watches his gaze – the gaze that seems almost animalistic – like he _wants_ her. For a moment, she lets her eyes roam. She stares down his face, to his lips that keep a straight line, to his chin that’s peppered with brown and gray hairs in no particular pattern, messy. Rolling over his neck – the thick veins and taught muscles that make up his throat, sickens her at that same time when she realizes the burn in her belly has moved to the delicate spot between her legs, and her brain nearly bursts.

She’s almost ashamed. Her eyes wander down to his shoulders, the broad heavy place that supports his thick, encompassing arms and her mind starts to set fire before she can realize what’s happening.

It’s then that he starts toward her. Her feet stay planted on the ground and before she can move he’s got her hips in his strong hands and he picks her up off of the ground, grasping her by her ass, ravenous, as she instinctively wraps her legs around him. He’s looking up at her with a fierce stare that bores into her own eyes, almost like he’s looking inside her body – and there’s not a place she’d rather him look – so he can _see_. See the feeling she’s got. Her hands hook around his shoulders and his nostrils flare as he throws her down onto the sofa. Her hair bounces with the haste of his movements and the breeze feels almost comforting. She glances up at him as he’s unbuckling her pants and her hand goes to his to do what she thinks is push him away, when he’s back up at her face grasping her cheeks with his palm.

“Don’t.” He warns – fierce and demanding and rough, his voice almost like gravel. Her mouth closes instinctively, watching him silently while her own nostrils flare because she knows what this is and she isn’t ready.

 _Taking_ her is one thing. _Having_ her against her will is another. Her legs begin to flail and she’s trying her best to scoot away, but his palms come to her knees and she’s grunting and telling him to stop, and although she knows she’s trying to fight him she isn’t sure she wants to.

She can’t make that choice before he’s pulling her pants down her legs and she’s whimpering and she finally opens her eyes and looks at him and asks him not to do this. Not now.

She thinks her eyes must look pleading as she looks up at him – vulnerable and nervous, and while she looks back at him she can’t tell if the glimmer in his eye is sadness or lust. He coos when he speaks to her, almost like he’s trying to convince her that she’s all right. His words tell her otherwise.

“I already told you…you _need_ me.” He says and he’s unforgiving when he’s above her. Her head is heavy, tired of the fight as she leans her head back and though tears are falling from her eyes she isn’t crying.

Next thing she knows she screams…really _screams_ at him. He stops his movements on his own belt buckle and stares at her and she’s breathing heavy, his arm moving quickly to cover her mouth and she kicks him between his legs without thinking, watching as he grunts and curses, giving her a moment as she quickly jumps from the sofa.

Her nostrils are wide and her eyes are eclectic and she’s angry. Seething. Watching him struggle to gain footing through the pain she’s caused, and he looks at her – baffled and just as angry.

“I fuckin’ told you I’m not ready!” She shouts and she moves away from him as he gets back up slowly, wincing from her reproductive kick. But she must not have gotten him too hard as he’s back on his feet and he’s coming at her and before she can run he grabs her and pushes her to the ground. The soft fur on the back of her legs is the only saving grace as she knows she can’t fight him again. It was happening. Whether she wanted it or not.

She doesn’t know why she begins to laugh as the fur tickles her back. She laughs so hard that she can’t see straight out of her eyes and when she’s done, they focus back on him, she can see him again. His face is watching her, and for a moment, she watches back. Takes in the lines on his face and how his eyes bore through her own. How his dark hair falls in a cascade over his forehead to where she’s sure he can’t see through it. To his lips, which are closed in a flat expression, and all she can think about his how they felt on hers. How much heat came from his lips and how intense it was. How much arousal his kiss brought and how tempting it was not to just let him take her. But how could she? She brings her hand up to brush the hair out of his eyes and as her palm comes to rest on his cheek, he almost burrows into it and she smiles warmly at him. She thinks she sees his eyes flicker like he’s sad, and it sends waves through her body that make her want to be sick. Her head tilts and she smiles in a way that’s almost telling him “I know it’s been hard…thank you.” Maybe her mind is fucked up but she feels this pull to him once again and instead of fighting him…she’s obliged to him. He watches her with a look that burns her belly and she can’t look away. She knows this is wrong and that he wants to rape her. She knows that she should run or try to kill him. She knows she should be doing everything she can to prevent this. But the sick truth is that she doesn’t want to run, and she positively doesn’t want to kill him. She also knows he isn’t tying her up or gagging her. So the questions remain.

_Does she want him?_

_Does he know she wants him?_

Does she know the answer to both of these questions?

Deep down – she _does_.

He begins to lower himself to her body again, his actions almost cautious, like he’s making sure it’s okay and instead of trying to run, she picks her head up and sets her shoulders straight as her elbows rest on the ground and she reaches down to her hips, pulling her tee-shirt up over her head, showing him all of her. She can feel the cold air brush over her tight nipples, and they inertly harden. Beth had never worn bras. Just wasn’t her thing. She hated the restriction on her skin and the pull of the straps and anyone looking could tell she didn’t actually need one. She had never been blessed with large breasts.

As she lay there naked, vulnerable, she watches when he let his eyes wander all over her – from his intense gaze on her face which she already knew he loved to concentrate on, to her collarbones, to her nipples which have become painfully hard from the sheer chill of the cabin and the hidden arousal she may or may not have had. To her hairless spot between her legs that only two other people had ever seen before.

It’s then that she hears a chuckle.

Her mind begins to question everything once again. How could she be so stupid? So naïve? She furrows her brow and grabs the fur blanket that’s hanging from the side of the sofa to cover herself. It’s when she goes to grab her shirt next to her that she feels him above her and as she rises back with her shirt he grabs it from her and rips the neckline. Her mouth opens in disbelief, partly because that was the only shirt she had. She wants to spit in his face so badly and tell him now how she really feels. She wants to kick and scream and run home and she wants to do so many things that she knows that she can’t and its too overwhelming and she just explodes.

“What the _fuck_ is funny to you?” She asks and she waits for a response and he fingers her chin to meet his eyes and she looks, and he smiles. He leans close to her face and he tells her.

“I think it’s fuckin’ funny that you tame your kitty.” She furrows her brows and feels the blood rush to her cheeks. “Specially’ with the end of the world an’ shit. _That’s_ what I think is fuckin funny, girl. I think it’s funny cause’ its probably the last time I’ll ever see it this way and I think it’s _so fuckin’ funny_ that I’m gonna make it _mine_.” His words stump her and leave her mouth open, hitting her like a brick and the primal growl in his voice plays strings inside her body she’s never felt before. It’s like a shock running from her head down to her toes like electricity and she does her best not to drop her mouth open like a shocked schoolgirl. She stares at him – doesn’t smile or sneer, she just watches and she tilts her head as he touches her clavicle softly, tracing, while she musters up all the anger and rage, almost eerily calm, she tells him gently that she “ _would never let an old man near her kitty_.”

She knows it’s far fetched. She also knows he knows it’s a _lie_. She knows he isn’t an old man and she knows he knows that she’s playing this tit for tat game with him, and she hopes that maybe it plays a cord inside of him – but maybe not and either option are alright. _As long as he plays along too._

She watches his eyes watching hers and she isn’t sure if she’s actually hurt him this time. She tries to study his face, to see a hint of something. But he keeps himself stern and in control and isn’t that just him? Isn’t this the same man she’d thought she knew so well at the diner? The one whose movements and schedule she’d studied, memorized even? The one who she thought that if she stared long enough, she could know just what he was thinking and when? _That_ man?

His eyes are blank as they bore into her like lasers and she knows there’s hurt there.

She braces herself for what comes next. “I been see’n the way you look at me. You wanted it from the first time I _looked_ at ya’. Got wet panties when I threw you a few bucks. You’re just a dirty whore who wanted some bad guy cock, _ain’t that right_?” The words shock her but at this moment she knows that nothing he says should. They almost hit her like fire canons, they burn and she knows that he doesn’t say anything untrue. She had been yearning for him. Probably seemed desperate and hankering. Damn her. She had tried to be subtle about her actions but he had picked up on them. Of course he had. But that’s not what this is about now. Not about spewing feelings, hurting each other with words or admitting that she’s been hopelessly hoping that he would notice her and now it’s just become a game. A game of who’s inferior. He’s using what he knows against her. It hurts _her_. He’s belittling her – this she knows.

She’s infuriated and she lets the feeling overcome her, trying to desperately gain her composure. She knows he’s weak. Weak _somewhere_. She looks at him before getting closer to his mouth, hilting herself up on her elbows higher, meeting his lips with her own and sneers. Her eyes find his and they flick between the round orbs, down to his lips and back again “I ain’t _never_ wanted an old man to fuck me before. Ain’t gonna start _now_.” She watches his eyes for a clue, a hint to know she’s getting somewhere – succeeding, but he keeps quiet and watches her, almost preying. “You know what _I_ want? I want a nice _young_ boy who’s _my_ age who wants to buy me nice things, tell me how pretty I am and show me how much he loves me by makin’ _love_ to me and givin’ me _babies_. That’s what _I_ want.” She’s seething back in his face, she can see the fire in his eyes, how he’s done fighting with her and it’s after that that he rips the fur away from her and tosses it onto the floor and picks her back up by her ass. The swift motion makes her head spin and it falls back, her blonde hair brushing against his knees, a motion that leaves him to explore her body with his eyes.

She’s tired, exhausted even of the back and forth. Tired of trying to defend herself with words instead of actions, trying to prove to not only him, but herself that she ain’t weak. That he shouldn’t try to take her so easily. That she can fight for herself and that she isn’t pathetic. That he shouldn’t be doing this – because she’s worthy and she’s not something to be tossed around. That he needs to ask for permission and that he’s _filthy_ for what he’s done.

She feels him squeeze her cheeks in his hands and she wants to let out the sinister giggle that’s in the back of her throat, but her lips don’t let her. She leans back up breathless in his arms, almost ready to smile at him because of how _done_ she is, and he spits on her chest. Disregarding her. Something she’s become aware is another game between them. She slowly and wincingly adverts her eyes down to her chest to watch his gunk slide down her skin, and she’s nearly nauseated, staring up at him with disgust and she wants to slap him when he tells her to “ _clean that up_.”

He walks them through the kitchen and turns to round up the stairs and she’s too angry to look around but she knows where he’s going.

Her eyes burn holes into his and he can feel her rage as he continues walking the steps. He grunts before raising his head to hers, meeting her lips with his own, ghosting over her lips with hot breath that tells her how pretty she is. “Girl, ain’t no other prettier than you. Don’ act like you donn’o that. Every part’a you is _pretty_.” His voice is almost cooing, and her eyes watch his lips as he breathes on her – panting almost, and her body moves on his, almost riding, trying to gain friction when he snorts and brushes her nose with his. He brings them to what she can only assume is the bedroom – the one he made for _them_ , and he throws her onto the bed with a bounce. She turns to get onto her stomach to do what she thinks is crawl away, and he grasps her ankle and drags her backwards. _This game they play. This vile game_. It almost makes her sick to know these things she’s doing and how ashamed her daddy might be at her. But though it’s been only hours since she’s been at the farm last, it feels like she hasn’t been there – hasn’t been home in forever. _This_ felt like _home_ now – this cabin, this wood, this _man_. He flips her back over with intent and she’s on her back with her hands by her head and she shakes the hair out of her face to see him. He’s got his long dark hair covering his face and she can barely see his eyes. She can smell the ash and the dirt on his skin, but she doesn’t care. Not now. Not with the fire inside her, yearning for him. He’s breathing heavily and she rises her small foot to eye level and he doesn’t flinch – because she knows that he knows that she would regret it if she did something to hurt him.

She brushes his hair back gently with her toe and almost smiles when she sees his eyes. He’s staring at her face – alternating from her eyes to her lips and she follows by doing the same. This cat and mouse they’re playing is menacing and she knows it. Maybe she’s relishing in it because she’s gone from her family and all she knows now is a dead world and this man who wants to fuck her and keep her for himself.

He grabs her ankle with his palm and his grip is warm and tight and his skin is clammy and she plays this game just as he does. She brings her other foot up slowly – knowing he’ll do the same with this one. He does.

He’s got her ankles in his hands and she tilts her head on the mattress and waits. They’ve still got their eyes locked together and she knows he feels it. Feels the heat from her, the desire, the need, the want. He knows it’s there and she doesn’t care to hide it – not anymore. What was the use?

She brings her legs back into her body and his hands follow. She’s waiting for him to spread them because this game – she’s good at it too.

He keeps his eyes staring at her and maybe he’s confused or maybe he’s bored. She’s done fighting, done arguing, done being malicious and evil because she knows it’s for fun. She isn’t afraid. He isn’t either. There’s nowhere for her to go. This they both know. Might as well enjoy it, right?

 _Sick. They_ both are _._

She cant refrain from a laugh and that’s when he yanks her legs to the side and he puts her feet flat on the bed and moves his palms up her calves and stops at her knees, circling the round bones with his hands and continuing up. He roams over her hairless thighs and comes to a stop. He thumbs her pelvis and moves down to find her lips and she shivers at the feeling. She clamps her legs on his hands and he almost _growls –_ the sound almost disturbing _,_ before looking back up at her and with a tantalizing tone tells her to open her legs. His voice is like gravel, rocky and rough and without thinking she obliges.

She can feel the heat from his gaze on her core, and she watches him as he watches her. She feels the rush of heat that it brings her and she wants him. Wants him to touch her. To feel his hands on her. She isn’t shy, and it’s unlike her not to be – especially in such a compromising position, but she feels like she’s known him forever – maybe she has.

He moves his fingers down to her opening, teasing her with the tip of his pointer finger, fingering the slit up and down, taunting her and he watches her while he teases the most intimate part of her body. The one she knows was made for him, before he finally slips two fingers inside of her and he smirks when she squirms and whines underneath him. Her breath hitches in her throat and it almost gets caught there, had it not been for his hand on her leg, almost soothing as he rubs her thigh slowly and almost warm. Her legs instinctively fall open and he watches his fingers pump in and out of her and how _wet_ she is.

“Told ya you were a dirty whore for some cock, didn’ I, _pretty girl_?” He slurs the nickname he’s given her, the one that makes her feel filthy and small, but needed at once. She laughs slightly, menacing when she looks down and watches him and it’s almost too much to watch his thick fingers penetrate her – invading her body in a way that’s repulsively erotic.

Each time he pulls them out he’s sure to leave some of her juices on her outside lips to show her what he’s doing to her. As if she doesn’t know. “How bout’ that for not wantin’ no old man, huh?” He taunts in almost an encouraging way that makes her hum and press her head back into the mattress. “You can moan, I know you ain’t hatin’ this.” How strange this game has become. Maybe this isn’t a game anymore. Maybe he’s won, has _she_?

The tips of his fingers inadvertently graze against her cervix and her whole body jerks up and she almost sits up with a scream and he can tell she’s on the edge and he wants to keep her there. To torment her because he knows he can. He stretches her out til’ she begins to push back against his fingers with a moan. He slowly and almost warningly pulls his fingers out of her and lifts them to where he knows she can see and tells her to look. Her eyes open and meet his fingers and he tells her to look at what he did to her.

“Always knew you were dirty.” He says as he leans back down and opens his mouth to let his spit drip down on her pussy. She grunts. A smile plays on his lips as he looks down into her eyes, playful and glossy.

“ _You’re_ dirty.” She says, dazed. “Prolly’ gonna gimme’ some fuckin’ disease and that’ll just kill me quicker.” She sneers with a smirk and he laughs _._ Not a sarcastic laugh, but a laugh in a way that she’s actually gotten good at this laugh. _Some mouth she’s got._

He tells her “you can’t hurt me, girl. Not with your words.” Before pushing back, grinding his cock against her tight center, sliding easily with his slime and she groans at the contact. She sits up and pushes him back with her foot and scoots to the edge of the bed. She fingers his fly and looks up at him – teasing, and he grabs her throat, pushing her back against the bed. She stays there as he pulls down his pants and peels his vest back.

“If you’re gonna rape me you better take off your shirt.” She says and he looks down at her and snorts, throwing her foot away from him with his hand. His mouth straightens from the smirk that had been playing there, and she watches him while he’s paused, almost wondering what to say next. He stands there for what feels like forever, watching her, wondering if that’s actually what she thinks is happening. He finally lowers himself down to her face, no more than an inch from her mouth when he starts to bite his words at her.

“You ain’t gettin’ raped by _no one_ – don’t say that kind of shit that you know ain’t true. I ain’t no fuckin _rapist_. You _want_ this and you know it. You been playin games with me and teasin’ me tryin’a get me to notice you. Here I am, I fuckin’ noticed ya.” She can tell she’s struck a nerve and he’s not just angry with her…he’s _offended_ by her. “You wanna blame all’a this shit on me and I just wanna _protect_ you. Hell, if it weren’t for me, you’d probably’a been eaten by that girl back there.” He sneers, but he’s softer and her eyes almost fall tired from their back and forth, almost wanting to apologize when he lowers back to her face. “You want _me_. _My_ cock inside'a you. Want _my_ cum all up in that tight pussy. Want _me_ to give you babies. That’s what you _want_. Don’ fuckin’ make shit up in your little head.” The rough in his voice makes her shiver and his finger makes her wince when he touches her head with his pointer finger and digs a little, just enough to make her bite her lip in a spectacle of _if you go any harder it’s gonna hurt me_. He’s seething angrily as he drives his finger against her temple.

She lets out a muffled moan and grips his bicep with her small hand. She resists the urge to tell him that she’s sorry, because really she isn’t. Isn’t sorry that she hurt him. Because he deserves it for what he’s done. For uplifting her life and her home and abandoning her from her family without an explanation. Without a care. She’s on the verge of digging her nails into his skin when he thrusts into her cruelly and she lets out that initial high pitched scream, caught off guard as he pushes on her chest, the motion kicking the wind out of her and she winces, and he knows he’s probably hurt her back at the diner, then he forces her back into the mattress. “Don’t fuckin’ try to play me, _Beth_.” Her mind is running a million miles a second and it was like hearing him say it pushed her over the tip of the mountain and she’s free falling. Her eyes immediately meet his and her body sinks into the feather of the mattress and her lips part slightly. Hearing her name from his lips…the acknowledgment that she has an identity other than _his_ , nearly ends her.

His cock throbs inside of her and the feeling is what she can only imagine as heaven. The best feeling she thinks she’s ever had and it’s daunting because she knows she shouldn’t be so eager. So blissfully full and pleased by this man whom she’s supposed to loathe.

It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and for a moment she thinks she loves it. It’s only when she feels him move inside of her that she’s brought back. She remembers. Thinks for a second with a level head.

“Don’t cum inside me.” She says breathlessly, and she looks up into his eyes and he smirks down at her and she knows that no matter _what_ – he’s going to do whatever he wants to. But deep down she knows that even _he_ knows it’s a stupid idea. She felt sick at the thought of a baby growing in her belly as the aftermath of this twisted cycle.

She doesn’t _know_ this man. He’s a stranger – her kidnapper – her almost not so much rapist.

He seems like he doesn’t hear her and she wants to say it again but she knows there’s no way he didn’t hear. She hopes he did. His thrusts get faster and harder and her cervix is tender and sore and she’s whining so loud she’s sure she’s deafening his ear drums, but he says nothing to her as he holds her ankle while his other palm cradles her cheek. Her eyes study his chest as it flexes with each movement, his hips thrusting into her slow and deep, the contracting muscles of his abdomen rocking against her thighs. She watches his face as he stares down at her and she knows he’s in euphoria and she also knows that he can see she is too, her brows furrowed on the edge of her almost being home.

Her whole body shivers when he leans down to her ear and whispers “Cum for me, _pretty girl_. I’m gonna cum all the way up _here_.” He says as he traces circles on her belly and her eyes roll back because _didn’t she know it_?

She knows this man. He’s her _savior._

She’s moaning so deep and so uncontrollable as he pumps faster and harder the last few times and he’s so far inside her that she’s seeing stars and she swears she’s gonna pee but she spills juices all over his cock and he groans and tells her she’s _a good girl_. Her body feels weak and she wants to laugh at the same time, pure frenzy coursing through her veins.

“Shh." He's coddling. "You don't wanna bring ‘em out here do ya’?” He whispers into her ear, his thmb grazing her cheek, her . She knows what he’s talking about. Those people with the dead faces. The eaters. Those _things_.

“No, _Daddy!_ ” She sneers as well as she can under the pressure in her belly and he snaps his head at her, looking at her with vigor and grabs her face with his hand. Her eyes watch his face and it contorts into what she can only think of as confusion as his brow furrows and his nose crunches up in a way that seems of disgust. Her mind races and wonders as she watches his inner conflict before he finally opens his mouth.

“I ain’t no one’s fuckin’ daddy.” He growls and he pulls out so fast and spills all over her belly and she looks down and throws her head back in relief. _What the fuck?_ He’s balancing himself on his hands on top of her while he’s staring down at his mess all over her and she lies there watching him, wondering what in the _hell_ that was.

With a racing mind and relief filling her brain, she watches as he breathes heavy above her, watching her with his eyes as she lays there, legs slack and tired. She looks around the room and remembers that he’d ripped her shirt.

‘I ain’t got no clothes.” She silently says to him, hoping to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in and she’s breathing just as heavy as he is as he looks up at her, he just about jumps off of her and grunts, throwing her pants onto her chest – and she sighs in annoyance when it brushes the cum that’s still sitting on her belly.

“Clean that up – ain’t got no time to be fuckin’ filty. Should get a shower too – “ya gonna stink after today.” He says and she isn’t sure if he’s being sarcastic or if he’s just an asshole. She tends to side with the second option. He then tells her he “got her some clothes”, pointing to the door to their right and she huffs because again… _how long has he been planning this_? While she was working at the diner wonderin’ about him he was off buyin’ her some clothes getting ready to _take_ her. The thoughts racing through her mind both make her sick and aroused at the same time.

And maybe that’s the sickest part of all’a this. The confliction within herself. The constant change in feeling furious but content but desolate but stimulated all at the same time and she’s so _frustrated_ with herself that even in a moment of fury she still has that hint of _hunger_ for him and its that that makes her feel the most vile and the more she thinks about it the worse she feels. She thinks of how disappointed everyone would be at her. How they would think of her differently and too think of her as a revolting human being. Maybe that’s where she and him are the same.

“How long you been plannin’ this? You bought me clothes?” She asks tenderly and he looks at her and hesitates. She sees the reluctance in his eyes but she wants to know – needs to know. Hell, she hasn’t caused _that_ much headache…yet. “I ain’t been plannin’ nothin’. Been buildin’ this place for years with ma’ brother.” She watches the light from his eyes dim when he speaks of his sibling. How he must have lost him. She just knows. In a moment of recklessness and not thinking, just like she would’ve out there, she reaches her fingers out to his hand tenderly…a gesture that comes natural, and he flinches at the contact, then looks up and into her eyes, letting her continue. She holds his hand in hers gently, not too tightly for fear of him realizing it’s too much. She runs her thumb gracefully over his knuckles, feeling for the first time how rough they are. How worn, how calloused and wrinkled, and as much as it should be unpleasant, she smiles down at their connection. “He’s gone now, so it’s jus’ me. I got the clothes for ya’ cause I thought you might need em.” He seems candid when he speaks about his brother, she knows that it’s a subject he isn’t very keen or used to talking about. She can’t sense if it’s been a while since he’s been without him or a short time. She does know though, that either way its painful for him and it makes sense to her then. Maybe that’s why she’s here. Because he’s lonely. It makes sense to her. Why he would come in alone, Always alone, and always quick. He had much bigger and more important things to do.

Her other hand comes up to his neck, tracing the veins there, before moving up to his check. His eyes close slightly, almost comfortable, before opening them again to her eyes that are staring into his. She tips her head forward, hesitant before feeling him relax under her hand. Her mouth finds his once more and she presses, hard. Kisses him with passion. He stills, his body tense but calm as she traces his bottom lip with her tongue. She kisses him again, before pulling away and cupping his face with both her hands, one with his attatched, searching for consolation. He moves his face until he’s able to gently kiss her hand, the warm palm supporting his cheek. He again leans his head into her hand and closes his eyes. He wants to tell her he’s sorry, unknowing that she wants the same thing. Her words break his thoughts and they’re brought back.

“I don’t understand this…what were you preparin’ for? The end’a time? How did you know this was comin’?” She asks with a snicker and regrets it instantly when his eyes drop the affectionate glimmer and she realizes that he doesn’t find it amusing.

He pulls his hand from under hers, jerking his head away from her and the break of contact hurts her in a way she hadn’t hurt before. It was like twisting her heart up and the pain of that scorned her. Knowing she’d gone too far. He was harsh when he swirled his finger around the room.

“Look around you.” He tells her, his finger gesturing to the room around them. “Feel safe? Yeah, ya’ do cause _I_ made it that way. If it weren’t for me you’da been at that _dinky_ diner where no one but _me_ gave a fuck about you!” She thinks her heart stops when she hears him say those words. An admission that he _cares_. Cares about her. Felt something for her that she wished for so long. “Stop askin’ so many damn questions! Makin’ my head ache.” She watches him get up, shaking his head. She watches as he strides to the other side of the bed, buttoning his pants and shrugs his vest over his bare arms. He tells her that the bathroom is through ‘that’ door, as he points to it and she can barely hear him. She’s clutching the white sheet to her chest and she feels like crying. It’s too much. How this all can be her new reality within just a few hours. She had only seen four of those things and it scared her so much that she thought she’d just give in and let herself go because she knew she couldn’t fight her off. How could she survive? Without him?

She listens to him grunt as he pulls his shirt off the floor and leaves the room. She lets her tears fall down her face and her body shake uncontrollably. She wants so badly to scream. Scream at the top of her lungs. Get it all out and scream at him and tell him to take her home and tell him that he should talk nicer to her and be a little bit better and understand that she’s struggling and help her find out what happened to her family and maybe listen to a radio so she can understand and she wishes so many things and how badly she wants just to ask him, to come out and ask. But she knows that deep down its useless. Her mind is racing and the quiet room suddenly is so loud and it’s almost bursting through her ear drums. She lets her body fall down onto the bed and lets her head lie on the pillow.

Her hands clutch the blanket that they’d thrown messily to the side during their frantic fucking, clutching it high up to her neck. She breathes in the scent of wood and him and she relaxes. Her head lies down on the pillow, her body warm and safe. She feels almost empty without him there – like he’s had her and now that he’s done, he’s gone. She almost misses him. Wants him to come back and lie next to her and tell her it’s okay and that she can lie her head on him. Wants him to comfort her and tell her that she isn’t crazy and that her feelings for him are in some way requited.

Her entire being is tired and she just needs to sleep.

* * *

She wakes up to the smell of wood burning. Her nose is tickled by the scent and its reassuring. She smiles and stretches her arms out, feeling cool sheets beside her and she’s here again, glancing over and she doesn’t see him in the bed and she remembers. She squints down at herself and grimaces before throwing her legs over the edge and wrapping herself in the askew sheet, wondering what the time was. She glances at the mirror to her left and she doesn’t recognize who she sees. Her hair is a mess – a total disaster and absolutely the result of the hardcore fucking that had happened earlier Her body looks fragile against the pale white sheet, her blonde locks grazing her shoulders, her skin darker than she remembered. She is almost disgusted. _Almost_.

Disgusted that she’s given in to play his game. That she enjoyed what he’d done to her. That she’d _participated_ in it. That she’d _enjoyed_ it. That she’d struck a nerve with him that could have flipped his switch. She looks away, picks her feet up and moves out of the bedroom. She looks to her left and sees two more closed doors, and before she gets the nerve to see at what’s inside, she hears him call for her. Her body jumps, eyes flickering closed to gain her composure before turning back to the staircase.

“Get, girl.” His voice is harsh and she travels downstairs towards it, rounding the staircase at the bottom facing the kitchen and she finds him. In the kitchen with a plate of food that’s steaming and it smells _heavenly_. She doesn’t even think her Daddy’s ever made somethin’ that smells this good.

She’s wrapped in the sheet and it flows behind her. She can feel it falling down the steps as she moves and as she reaches the bottom, she slows until he turns around with a pan in his hands and he looks at her. Really looks at her. He meets her eyes first, and she can see then float up to her mess of hair, and then down to the sheet she’s tugging tightly against her. He stares for a moment, finally looking back to her eyes and asking why she didn’t get dressed. She doesn’t answer and instead floats down the last two steps and into the kitchen to meet him. She sits at one of the chairs at the wooden table, and peers over him into where he came from cooking. She questioningly looks up to him with furrowed brows.

“Gas burnin’ stove. Power still works but might not stay for long. Built it that way. Got a generator and some solar for this place but you can’t count on nothin’.” She turns her head to look – really look through the kitchen. It’s large and darkened with oak and stone rock countertops and she wonders how and why in the world he had so much money but was comin’ to her shitty little diner. She thinks one day she’ll bite the courage to ask, though she knows it doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe he stole it and he’s only tellin’ her a story. “And ain’t nothing gettin’ past these walls ‘less somebody burns it.” He nods to the walls around them and she glances over at the walls and she takes it all in. It’s truly a _log_ cabin. Like one of those that you build with some Lincoln Logs when you’re a kid. He made this place out of trees. Built it to last – to fight off the outside. _To protect what’s inside._

“You never answered my question.” She says meekly and they glance over to one another at the same time, meeting.

“I know.” He hesitates before grabbing a plate of food for himself, sitting across from her. “Ain’t _gotta_. You’re here – s’all that matters.” He says and he slides her her plate of food and tells her to _eat_.

Slowly, she looks down at the plate of browned meat – what kind she doesn’t care to know, with some potatoes and peas. She picks up the utensil to her right, careful.

She forks her food and puts some in her mouth, pulling the fork slowly, savoring the taste of the meat placed in her mouth. Chewing slowly, almost moaning at the taste, she swallows the hot food down into her belly. Looking up at him, he doesn’t meet her eyes and she’s cautious, not sure if she wants to know the answer, but she asks anyway. “What are those things?” She asks timidly as she forks through her potatoes. “Out there…” she almost whispers. He doesn’t look over at her. He shovels his food down fast and she watches him like a savage. Don’t they have time? Isn’t time _all_ they have?

“Dunno’.” He mumbled, intent on his food. “Zombies.” He replies to her question and she cant help it – she laughs. It’s at that moment that he looks up at her. “That funny?” He sneers and quirks a brow like he’s taunting her. She watches his throat as he swallows his food, his Adams apple bobbing up and down, his throat straining and strong and she feels that familiar heat between her legs.

She swallows hard, shaking her head to rid her dirty attentions and thinks about it _. That’s what they are. Flesh eating. Dead but not dead. Zombies._

“No.” She answers quietly. It isn’t funny. Not one bit.

She’s forking her food carefully into her mouth and she’s thinking about her family. Where her daddy and Maggie are. If they’re alive. If they’re like those _things_. If they’re together. If they’re worried about her. If they’re sick over the possibility of thinking she’s _one_ of them. She’ll ask him. Just not now. She’s moving her peas into straight lines on her plate with her fork and she notices that she doesn’t hear the scratching of his own on his plate and she looks up to see him looming over her.

He grabs her plate and she watches him walk slowly over to the corner of the kitchen and she fumbles with the sheet to stand up and hurries behind him when she watches him toss the food harshly into the garbage can.

Her breath catches and she’s angry. Angry, hungry, and frustrated.

“What the _fuck_?” She yells, her hand in the air and going forward to look into the trash. “Why the _fuck_ did you do that?” She asks again, brows furrowed in anger, turning to look at him brushing the hair out of her face.

His eyes blow. “You think this is some sorta joke? Messin’ round with your food like it’s a game. It ain’t! You eat food! You don’t want it – then it’s gone. Easy as it’s there! I made you food to eat. Ain’t _no_ fuckin game.” He’s screaming at her and pointing his finger so close in her face that he’s just about touching her nose and she thinks hard about kneeing him where the sun don’t shine again and _runnin’_ for it. Her nostrils flare and she picks up her hand to slap him. He catches her arm and seethes in her face.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” She shouts at him, yanking on her arm in his hand. “First, you _kidnap_ me! Not _only_ kidnap me – but _hurt_ me in the process.” She shows him her scratched and bloody palms. “Then – you bring me here – in the middle a’ fuckin’ _nowhere_ – then you r…” Before she can finish her sentence he’s on top of her, his abdomen pressing into hers as her back arches painfully against the edge of the wooden table, her face cupped in his hands and his lips on hers. He’s kissing her with desire and urge and she’s wondering where this is coming from. Why he’s kissing her. Why she was about to rip him a new asshole and he thinks now’s the time for _romance_. He’s ruining her. He’s tearing her down to the core of her being and pulling this person from her shell and she has no idea who she is anymore. She’s forgotten all of herself when she kisses him back, his tongue moving into her mouth and his hands roll over her back and hips to find her ass as he palms her cheeks over the sheet and she doesn’t think before letting it go with a quiet rustle to the floor.

She strains her neck to meet his lips and he hoists her up again moving backwards and places her on the table. The cold wood shocks her skin and she jolts against the grain but he coos for her to “ _shh_ ”, the sound from his mouth soothing and warm, and so she does. She breathes deep and feels his heat and she’s _okay_.

He moves his lips away from her and looks into her eyes. He cups her face in his hands almost lovingly and puts his lips on hers, so lightly she can barely even feel them there. She doesn’t expect the words that come from them.

He caresses her cheek with his thumb and tells her “took you cause I knew I _could_. Cause I knew you were weak. _That’s_ why it was you.” She takes a moment to listen to him and she’s looking at him with soft eyes before her brows furrow and her eyes flicker open and closed to realize, seconds after he shuts his mouth and goes to kiss her again, she retracts her hand again to slap him across his face. _Hard_. A silent way of telling him how much she hates him. How betrayal feels and how she had tried so hard to be okay, and he’s gone and ruined it.

She can feel the sting. Physically and emotionally. She feels the tears well up in her eyes and she can’t help but let them fall. He’s watching her and she’s crying and she’s watching him back with hatred and this _horrible_ hating herself for feeling this way that she can’t say out loud. Why does he have to do this? Be this way? Why can’t he tell her she’s beautiful and he wanted her because of _that_? Instead he decides to let her know how he preyed on her weakness.

She brings both hands back to her body to cover herself, tightening her eyelids closed before scorning her lips with fire “get off of me.” She sneers, and it’s hard and it’s rough and it burns her lips and she then connects her eyes bitterly with his.

He shakes his head and she repeats it.

“ _Get off of me_.” This time it’s slow and it’s quiet but if her words could kill he’d be in the grave.

His hands appallingly come to grip her hands. Her breath hitches and she steals them away from him like they’re on fire. He tells her _no_.

“ _GET OFF OF ME! GET OFF OF ME! GET OFF_ —“ She’s screaming like she’s crying and she’s almost hyperventilating and then she’s hitting him with her fists and she’s mid breakdown when he selfishly pulls her forward and slides his cock inside of her. She thinks she’s repulsed.

But then she cries out loud and hits him again against his chest with her tightened fist, saying ‘ _no’_ but her body is rocking against his length and the feeling inside her is almost _home_. This bizarre new home. With this man that hurts her and caresses her sores together. She leans her head on his shoulder and while crying she’s groaning because the feel of him inside of her is a feeling of something she doesn’t want to confuse. Because though she’s so angry and so sad and so dismayed, it’s an overwhelming feeling of family. A feeling of safety with someone who cares. _Somewhere_. A feeling of something she wants to think of as _love_. Her tears are falling and the feeling inside of her makes her want to hate and _love_ him all at one time. It makes her want to throw him away from her, but pull him back and hold him by his arms forever because the feeling of this man that she wants to hate brings her to a place of strange peace and maybe he really thinks of her this way, maybe he did just take her because he knows she wouldn’t – couldn’t fight him, but maybe this was destiny and she _did_ need him. It’s a sick way to feel like you love someone and maybe she really is sick for possibly thinking she feels this way but she’s too tired and too worn to begin to dissect her thoughts.

He’s thrusting slow and deep and he’s watching her as she hangs her head and silently sobs and moans at the same time and he tries to pick her face up with his hand and she slaps it away. She shakes her hair off of her face and closes her eyes and keeps her head straight as he continues. He pumps into her continuously and she scoots closer to the edge of the table and lifts her limp legs to wrap around him and her heels dig into his tailbone.

She wraps her arms underneath his arms that are braced on either side of her on the counter, and she rests her head against his bent forehead and _she_ kisses him gently. Lightly – barely brushing his lips and can taste the meat left on his lips. She traces her lips up to his nose, to his cheeks, and back to his lips again. Her breath lingers across his face as he follows her face as she pulls away. He looks for her where she goes, and he tells her to look at him.

She does. Opens her eyes and he’s right there. Eyes studying her, waiting for her to be okay.

“ _You’re mine, Beth_.” He tells her quietly and she noses his the tip of his nose with hers and easily tells him “Yours, _Daryl_.” This is her giving in. For remembering the man she’d served countless nights at the diner. For letting him have her when she knows it’s what she wanted for so long.

He shuts his eyes tightly, probably wondering where she found his name from – little did he know that she knew long ago. Asked around town who the interesting leathered man from the diner was and what his name was. That was one of the only things she knew about him. But now – she thought she knew _much_ more. The kind of man he was – was _trying_ to be.

His thrusts are slow and deep and they’re giving her these sensations she’s never had in her life. The feel of this man inside of her is something she knows she’s yearned for. It’s like the best and the worst of things mixed together in a symphony that you can’t turn the other cheek to. It’s a drug she can’t stay away from. It’s a feeling she wants _forever_. It’s in that moment that her chest feels heavy and she thinks about the world now and what would happen if it were just _her_ here. If he weren’t there and what if he goes out and he doesn’t come back? It’s in this moment that she realizes that she _does_ need him. Not just in a way to _survive_ but in a way that she doesn’t know that she could live without this feeling and she doesn’t want to imagine it any farther.

“You ain’t _ever_ leavin.” She can’t tell if he’s telling her or warning her – and in this same moment, she doesn’t care. He’s the only one left to kiss her wounds and lick her tears and though he’s the one causing them, she still has no better option. Doesn’t know that if she had another option she would choose it anyway. She hopes he will treat her like his – like a prideful husband treats his wife. It seems so out of reach. It seems like something she can’t imagine him doing. But for a moment she imagines him kissing her body in a way of worship and she imagines him apologizing for being gone too long and she wonders if maybe she can make him that way. If he can love her so much that he’d crumble at her feet. She wonders how he would be if she got sick or like one of them and she wonders if he would die along with her or if he would be okay and go on like he didn’t care.

“Don’t cum inside, Daryl.” She says once more when she’s drug out of her thoughts and she picks her head up to look in his eyes and while she’s tired and lazy, he’s alert and he’s aware. He doesn’t answer her, instead holds her neck in what almost feels gentle, and he kisses her cheeks swiftly and brings his lips to hers before softly asking. “You wanna be a mama?” He asks, his breath hot on her face and she’s barely keeping her head up, let alone able to form sentences when he’s hitting every spot inside her that’s everything good.

This though. This stops her in her tracks, mentally and physically. Her lazy eyes meet his and she tenses her brows, looking at him as if he’s really crazy. She wants to speak and tell him, but it comes as a mumble, so he asks her again and tells her to speak up. She looks down at where they’re connected, watching as his cock enters her body and leaves, moaning and leans back up to tell him.

She’s honest when she tells him “I _did_. I do. But…not in this. Not with them. Ain’t gonna be a mama in this.” She tells him almost pleading and he watches her as she closes her eyes again. He isn’t sure if the feeling inside him is pain or confusion, and although it almost hurts him to hear her words, they’re her desires. He tilts her head back with the hands on her neck, exposing her skin to him, and she can feel her hair brush her back as he tilts her head. It feels like she’s floating, like she’s going to drown, but his lips on her neck bring her back afloat. His cock is pounding inside her and he tells her to cum.

“Cum for me, baby.” He tells her and she moans a smile and opens her eyes to see him and at that moment he releases his seed inside her. Her eyes are alert and she crumbles around him and she releases a wave of relief and pleasure and she lets her eyes roll back and she collapses against the table behind her.

He brings his hand up and traces her lips with his fingers and trails down to her throat, down to her breasts and he flicks each nipple before trailing over her belly.

“Gonna put a baby in my girl.” He says roughly and she pushes him away with her hand, his dick popping out of her and she sits back up. Her chest is heaving and she’s not tired anymore, now awake and _livid_. Livid for his disregard and angry for trying to be alpha.

She’s rough as she speaks to him. “Are you kidding me? Why even _ask_ me?” She’s hurt by his disrespect for her and what she wanted and _god forbid_ he listened – just once. Just for this. “Didn’t matter to you what I wanted anyway, huh? What the fuck was that? What happened before when I called you Daddy? What the fuck was _that_? Thought you’d like that _daddy_.” She’s mocking him – making sure he knew how sick he was and how much of a disgrace he is. She’s blinking through dry eyes and he’s staring at her dumbfounded but witty when he grabs her hands to come down from the table. He lowers his hand to her pussy and shoves a finger inside her, like he’s punishing her.

She groans and whimpers at the contact, almost pained from being fucked so raw.

“Said you wanted babies so I’m puttin’ a baby in you.” He tells her simply and she cries out when he hooks his finger against the little nub inside her and she feels herself gush out against his hand.

“ _Jesus_.” She whimpers and leans her head to the side, resting it on his bicep. She opens her eyes and looks up at him and tells him she hates him. He tells her he can live with that.

“Don’t want your baby. Don’t want any baby at all.” She spits and he grunts at her and calls her a liar. “I built this place for you. For you an’ me. Least you can do is have my baby.” She thinks about it for a moment and smiles up at him in a twisted sort of way. Almost humored at how crude he is. That’s what this is. Tit for tat. In that moment she feels used and disrespected. Like the way he probably wants her to feel. Not like he’s made the attempt to make her feel otherwise.

He pulls his finger out of her and her shoulders sink with the loss of contact and when he brings his finger up to her lips and tells her to taste it, she jerks her hand out of his grasp, picks the sheet back up off the floor and walks unsteadily back to the sofa.

She looks around her at the fire and the wood and the furs and plaid blankets and the beauty radiates into her and makes her insides feel warm. It brings her to a place where she can forget for a second and she remembers her plans for upcoming days. Christmas is her favorite holiday. She couldn’t imagine a world without Christmas. She breathes deep and compromises.

“Get me a Christmas tree. Some lights and batteries and ornaments too.” Her shoulders slump into the sofa and she can hear him laugh behind her. He walks up to the back of her head and commands her to _open_.

She takes a deep breath and leans her head back and looks up at him upside down, takes a deep breath and opens her mouth. She can feel his hand moving closer to her and he grasps her chin with his hand and teases her lips with his finger. She winces at the contact and when he put his finger into her mouth she nearly gags. Him and her – mixed together from sex. She sucks his finger with her lips and rolls her tongue slow around it making sure to get it all. She wants to spit it out, but knows he’d only make her do it again. She closes her eyes and swallows and sucks his finger clean. He pulls it out and kisses the back of her head.

Then he tells her he’ll get her a tree in the morning.

* * *

When she wakes, the light beaming inside the room from the small thin window scorns her eyes, hurts to look at it. She realizes she’s back in bed.

Feels like dejavu when she glances over and doesn’t see him next to her. She rolls her arm over to the side of the bed where he should be, and she wonders if he will ever be there. He’s made a habit of this. Her head rolls back straight and as she looks up to the wooden ceiling, she can’t shake the missing feeling, the feeling like she’s got a part of her that’s empty without him there. She knows she fell asleep on the sofa, knows he must have carried her to bed. She rolls over to his side to find a wrist watch on his bedside table and notices that it’s the next day. _Where’d this come from? Daryl never wears a watch_ – but it’s one in the afternoon to be exact. Her body felt better than yesterday, more stable and rested, energy coursing through her veins instead of dismay. She wonders where he kept the watch. She clicks open the dresser drawer of the night table and pulls it open. Her eyes scan around the drawer where she sees some books, an old pack of cigarettes, _condoms_ , keys, and then tucked in the back – a gun.

Beth had never been afraid of guns. Growing up on a farm, it was pretty normal for her. Daddy had always said that she and Maggie needed to know how to use one in case they ever need to. _Well – where was a gun yesterday?_

She picks it up, her fingers sliding over the smooth black metal and looks it over. Traces the smooth handle and fingers the trigger. She checks if it’s loaded. She finds the bullets in the gun and feels like her breath hitches but she closes her eyes for a moment and closes the chamber. She lightens her grip on the weapon carefully lowers it to her side. She moves to find her clothing – her new black shirt in her hand, and she remembers her jeans are in the other room. She swings her feet over the edge of the bed and swings her head around to look at the door to the closet. She brings herself to stand, clad in nothing – completely nude and vulnerable and she pads over to the door, fingering the handle before turning it gently and swinging it open. She isn’t shocked at what she sees – she was expecting clothes, but it seems like he’d picked the same colors for her as he’d picked for himself. She sees colors made of white, black, and gray – nothing in between, nothing more. She finds a few pairs of jeans and she’s thankful. She can also see the black stretch pants folded neatly on a shelf.

There are blue jeans hung by hangers and she fingers through the rough of the denim, finding that they look thoroughly not her. They’re rough like they’ve been worn, but she plucks a pair off the shelf, lighter than her old ones, holding them out in front of her. Maybe they could match. Maybe he’d like that. She tries to look for some undergarments but doesn’t find any. They’ll have to wait. She pulls the jeans up her legs, feeling them tight against her thighs, and she looks down. The button sits above her belly button and as she pulls the black shirt over her head, makes the decision to tuck it in.

She looks herself over in the mirror, before roughing her hands through her hair, and tucking the shirt neatly into place. She pads out of the bedroom barefoot and down the stairs to pick her old jeans off of the floor, folding them neatly and resting them on the closest part of the kitchen counter, feeling as though she’s whispering goodbye. Without realizing, her movements are calm and quiet but swift. She calls for Daryl, but she doesn’t get an answer. The cabin is eerily quiet.

Had he gone for a tree? Without telling her? He was her kidnapper after all…Wasn’t he afraid she’d run? Or did he know her too well already? It’s when she thumbs the gun in her hand once again that she hears the voices. They’re coming from outside, the large bay windows too far to her left to be able to see them in the front. She floats over to them anyway, trying to see if maybe – just maybe. While she’s there, she notices the thick layers of heavy glass that the windows are made of, realizing that they’re not your typical windows. She’d have to ask him about them later. Her head jerks to an uncomfortable angle, trying her best to see the men out front, but she can’t and her shoulders slouch. She looks down at the gun in her hands. How did she know? Why had she thought to look in his bedside drawer?

Her body tenses in place and she comes to realize that they are no longer alone. Did Daryl invite someone here? She doubted it…why would he bring someone here while she was here against her will – _seemingly_. Her veins run cold and her body feels like its frozen. She hears the cackling laugh of a man whose voice she does not recognize, and suddenly her mind floats away from her. She can’t let go – not now. Not after _all_ of this – she was stronger. She’d learned from this. From these days she’d been with him she isn’t afraid – isn’t going to cower to someone who she did not care to know. She was not his captive. She knows that. She knows that had she really asked him to take her home, maybe he would. Possibly, though, she’s completely off balance.

She looks around her and finds a step stool beside the fireplace. She grabs it and brings it close to the thin horizontal window at the top of the front door, and carefully adjusts herself to peak through the corner of the glass. She can only see snowfall, but her eyes search around the yard, until she sees them to the left. She sees him. Her body almost wants to lunge, to scream for him, like she’s on fire and she _needs_ him. Maybe it’s fear. His hair blowing in the wind, his body clad in a heavier denim and sherpa jacket – like he knew the snow would come. He has gloves on his hands, and she knows he wasn’t prepared for this.

It’s when she looks a little to the right that she notices the taller man with a fresh hair cut, groomed and gelled back, wearing a leather jacket standing outside their front porch. She leans her head to the left and she sees _him_ to the side once again, an axe in his hand, holding her tree up with the other. _Oh, baby_. Carefully, she gets down from the stool and thinks for a second. Daryl can handle this right? He’s got an axe. He’d probably holler at her for snoopin’ anyway and she’d get punished and tied up or something crazy kidnappers are _supposed_ to do.

It’s then that her stomach rumbles and she glances down and once again – she _remembers_. Her brain floats away again and she imagines herself alone, or worse – with someone _else_. They didn’t know this man. He was a stranger. A threat. Her finger finds her gun and she clicks the safety off, taking a deep breath, her hand instinctively touching the small of her belly.

Her hand goes for the lock and she lifts up the metal bar – and it isn’t easy – definitely heavier than anything she’s ever lifted, and before she opens it, she breathes deeply, ready to face whatever this new world was. She gently opens the heavy door and steps outside. Her face is hit with hard pellets of icy snow, and she glances around to take in the beauty of the trees, before looking back to the men in front of her. She looks to Daryl first, shooting him a small smile. He thinks she winks at him. Her hands are behind her, holding her gun ready.

Both men avert their eyes to her, and she then breaks away from his gaze before she makes contact with their guest. She watches his eyes watch her, scanning her up and down before smirking and looking into her eyes. She smiles sweetly back at him, keeping her mouth closed, curt.

He whistles low and smiles at her, leaning back. The sound makes her insides turn. “Well…who’s _this_ fine lady? Cold day to be wearin’ _that,_ ain’t it darlin’?” His voice is gritty, and it’s not meant to be honest, but taunting. She glances over at Daryl and he locks eyes with her so she can see it. The _rage_. The what the ‘ _fuck_ are you doin?.’ She can almost hear it. The man looks over at Daryl and she can see the sick smirk on his face and he speaks to him like they’re buddies and her heart skips a beat. “Daryl I can’t imagine why you ain’t given this little lady something warmer to wear, I mean she’s _delicate_ and it’s freez…” She wants to smirk because she knows her nipple are hard like marbles and lifts her chin up a bit and interrupts him.

“His wife.” She says proudly, her hair flowing in the wind and her chin up high, her hand going into her back pocket. It’s wild, really. Lord knows where this came from, because she was the farthest thing from the title – though she’d let him in enough to be inside her body, so she thinks it’s enough. Maybe she wants it. To be his wife.

There it is. The _sickness_.

Her mouth opens and she can feel the man’s gaze on her lips. “Weathers fine, have the fire goin’ – I could wear a sweater if I _wanted_. Don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. Right, baby?” She asks sweet and menacing as she glances back over to Daryl. She watches him and he’s menacing. So _Daryl_. Twitching with anger, his hair brushing his eyes, his lips moving in a bite. But then he looks like he’s gloating. Almost like he’s proud but horrified and furious at the same time.

  
She watches him and it’s like she can read his mind because hes squintin’ his eyes but he ain’t sayin’ anything but she _knows_. “Mmhm.” He mumbles and she can see that he’s mouthing around his teeth, biting at the insides of his lips and his cheeks, before spitting on the ground in front of them – waiting – just _waiting_. She knows he wants to lunge at his throat – rip him apart with his hands – and maybe she’s willing to let him. But she needs another minute.

She looks back over to the dark-haired man and tilts her head a bit, waiting for him to speak. He’s closer to her now, one foot on the step of the porch, hand leaning on the wooden support pole and it’s too close. It’s invading what’s _hers_. _Theirs_ , and it ain’t okay with her. He tilts his head before talking to her. “Well, y’all are some lucky folks to be together out here. It’s fucking _madness_ out there!” He laughs, but not jolly.

“Hardware store guy nearly hacked off my fuckin’ hands off tryin’a get a baseball bat. A fuckin base-ball- _bat_. Motherfucker’s never learned to share I guess…” His sentences are drug out and intentionally taunting and it makes her skin crawl. Wants to kick him with her boot to ‘ _get off my porch’_. She watches him, sickened and she sees through him. Knows he’s not there for small talk. Knows he ain’t tryna make _friends_.

“Who are you? Got a name?” Beth interrupts. She doesn’t care for the small conversation. Knows tall man don’t either. Wants him _off her porch_.

“Names Negan.” He slurs out his name like it means somethin’, which it most certainly doesn’t, not to her, jutting his face closer to her and she knows Daryl is probably close to shittin’ his pants, so she twitches her gaze back over to him and quirks her brow, a silent ‘ _ain’t that nice, honey’_? “S’a pleasure to meet ya, darlin’.”

When she looks back at him his smile is sinister, and she knows he means no good. She knows he wants her for himself and she knows it’s not where she wants to be. She looks over to Daryl once again and he’s _watching_ him – studying – stalking – preying – and she knows how bad he _wants_ to do it. She knows because it’s how bad _she_ wants to do it.

Negan rests his chin mockingly on his arm that’s resting on the wooden pole, and clicks his lips. “So Daryl…how the hell’d you manage to land a piece of motherfuckin’ ass like this? You guys are _married_? SHIT! I think I’m pretty good lookin’ and even I never had one like _this_.” He says while looking over at Daryl, the smile on his face sickens her and she knows he feels the same way.

“You think we could share? You got some good southern hospitality nowadays I’d imagine.” Negan smiles at Daryl and tilts his head like he’s waiting for an answer and she knows Negan could maybe kill Daryl if he wanted to. She knows she won’t let that happen. She would tear his eyelids from his eyes before he tried to move on him. It’s an animalistic instinct and she doesn’t know where the sudden appalling thoughts come from. She isn’t sure how yesterday she was an innocent girl workin’ in a diner and today she’s a girl holdin’ a gun with natural intent to shoot at a living person.

Doesn’t know who she is right now at all, really.

She interrupts before Daryl has the opportunity to positively massacre him. It’s like she can orate his mind. He sees how badly he wants to strangle him and watch the life fade from his eyes. She’d be mendacious if she said she didn’t want to see the same.

“We can offer you a hunk a meat and a few fire logs. That’s it. Ain’t got nothin’ else to spare.” She ponders the idea that he must know she’s lying. _Look at this place._ Besides, did he really think they were some genuine good people lookin’ to give their shit away for free?

“I dunno darlin’, I think I can get those kinda things anywhere right now – don’t _you_? No see…I want your fire log _s_ – plural – all of em’. I want your food – all of _it_. Hell, I want this whole fuckin’ house.” He says, tilting his head back to look all the way up her home. “I even want your pots and your pans and I really – _really_ want your _motherfuckin’_ pussy on my dick.”

She knows Daryl growls.

Her mouth keeps a straight line, and though inside she’s on fire, she keeps her calm, knows she has to. “That’s what I’ll _take_.” Negan’s reply is abhorrent and he’s _not_ unserious. It seems like slow motion when the corner of her eye catches him and she turns to watch Daryl drop the tree and move his legs. Her brain kicks on and she knows she doesn’t have time.

She hears that vicious, delightful, gravel voice "You ain't gettin' shit!" She's quick to remark over him, trying to bring Negan's attention back to her. 

“Negan – you know you ain’t getting _any_ of that.” She says, and he looks at her and he smiles before clicking his tongue to respond. Daryl is hot on his back, and she knows she can’t let him reach him so she thumbs the trigger of the gun behind her back, pulls it forward and before Daryl can tell her otherwise, shoots right between his eyes. She watches the bullet corse through his skin, and Daryl stops dead in his tracks. Daryl watches Negan fall to the ground and he looks up at her through stringed hair, his mouth agape and gasping, so many different emotions coursing his face. Right thing to do? She knows so.

She looks at Daryl and she _laughs_.

Daryl knows things she doesn’t, like the fact that that bullet is gonna bring those dead ones in on them, and he hopes high to heaven that by some miracle of god, there weren’t any around. He hadn’t seen any in the time they’d been there together, but in a world like theirs – you can never – ever be sure.

He looks over at her and she can see the shock on his face – the wrath and the murder – the questionable _fear_ that he’s wondering if he caused it – and she tells him he was a fool to think she was weak. She then tells him emotionless to burn him and she walks back into the cabin. Before she can look back Daryl is nearly taking strides back in after her and he grabs her by her shoulders and throws her less than gently against the wall beside the door. He kicks the door shut before pulling the lever down. He’s seething – his pupils are blown black and she doesn’t know who he is in this moment. She presses the gun against him, motioning for him to take it from her and he grabs it harshly out of her fingers, and he doesn’t think before he thrusts it across the room. 

Her own chest is rising and falling with speed and she’s maybe in a state of shock and fear with adrenaline pumping her veins like she’s electric and she’s watching his eyes and he’s searching hers like he’s trying to see inside her brain and she smiles wide at him because she thinks she’s losing her mind. “Now that – _that_ is a rapist, baby. He would have raped me and killed me and _danced_ on my body afterwards!” She says this like its funny and she’s almost laughing because she might think it’s almost comical, though Daryl doesn’t seem one bit amused. His nostrils flare with every breath he takes and finally he opens his mouth. He’s tried, but every time he does, he shuts it again because he can’t put his emotions into words. He’s seething. Red is all he can see. Like blood in his eyes.

His brain is on _fire_. She can see it. She’s sure he’s wondering what in the fuck that was and where it came from. She hopes that he’s scared. Hope’s he’s wondering if all of his was a good idea. Hope he realizes that this is in fact his own fault. That his actions have brought her here – to this – to _this_ girl. That he’s taught her, and she’s learned from him. Learned to be hard, and to be cold. Brought her to this rage and this horror and she really, _really_ hopes that he’s never able to forget it. Because as much as deep down inside of her body she knows that she _loves_ this man – completely and entirely, no matter how harsh he’s been with her. She’d kill for him – she just had. She too knows that he loves her just as much – hell, if not maybe more because he’s the one who’s gone and done this all for her. She knows that she’s gone too far and there isn’t no turning back and she knows that she doesn’t want to even if she could. She’s wanted this man for as long as her brain can possibly remember now, and she doesn’t regret anything. She’s where she belongs – she knows this. Though, she will still and may forever wonder about her family. Because how in two days could she forget the people who raised her? It wasn’t possible. She needed to find them – someday. Not today, but someday. She knows that love is a feeling that she has for him, but she is also still incredibly irate. Angry that he thinks of her so submissive…so easy to _take_ and so easy to _have_. Her desire is strong, and it burns hot inside of her, but it also makes her blood boil, and up until this point she has not let him know. This is how she’s decided to let him know. Because even though somewhere in her she had been scared of this stranger, she knows that Daryl was much, _much_ more afraid than she ever could have been. Because she can _see_.

She can see how much _he_ needs _her_. How much his life would be unequivocally meaningless without her. She can see how much he loves her. How much fear he has to lose her, and she wonders why and how she could have missed this for so long. Why she hadn’t had enough courage to realize what was right in front of her. To be confident and ask for what she needed – wanted. How he would do absolutely anything for her, to keep her safe, to give her what she asked for. She didn’t need to hear it. She just knew it. _One day, maybe._

“You got a fuckin’ _rock_ in your head?!” He screams in her face, breaking her from her mental trance and she watches him above her as he towers over her and she doesn’t tremble. “He woulda _killed_ you – I had it under fuckin’ control! You roll outside like it’s just a normal day! Like there ain’t people fuckin’ eatin people out here! Like people like that don’t wanna come for everything we _got_! Everythin’ that’s ours! Everythin’ I _built_ for you!” He’s more than angry and he’s grueling, menacing but she takes what he puts out. She watches him point an accusatory finger in her face, leaning down “Learn this” he pauses for a moment and looks at her, all over her face, watching her lips slowly before telling her “ – your place is _here_. Inside. This. House. Do the _fuckin’_ dishes and lemme _handle_ shit.” He’s nearly spitting on her with how much fury is inside him and she knows he’s going easy. She feels how tense he is and she’s wondering why he’s holding back.

He goes to move, and she grabs his arm tightly and he looks down like she’s burned him and then up at her face like he’s about to kill her. She looks at him, eye to eye, and reaches up to his face to meet it with her own. Her lips are nearly grazing his when she speaks.

“Tell me how you really feel Daryl. Tell me how _scared_ you were that he was gonna take all those things he wanted. How he was gonna take your firewood and your food and your pots and pans – all a that shit plus this house and then – _me_. How scared were you that he’da killed you and lived here for the resta’ his life with me in it. Rapin’ me every day while I wished and _cried_ for you. Tell me, _baby_.”

What a disgrace I am, she thinks.

She’s tilting her head watching him as she teases and taunts him where she knows it hurts him the most. “Tell me how you were so scared he’da been the one fuckin’ me on the table instead’a you. Or how about – _oh_ how about how scared you were that he woulda realized I had a _baby_ in me and thought it was _his_! How about _that_? Were you scared when ya thought about that? Tell me how your wonderin’ how we’re gonna survive this when not even two days in we have people like _that_ tryna take this away. Tell me – I _know_. I know you’re fuckin’ terrified. I know how much you _need_ me. How _obsessed_ with me you are. You’re sick. Hell – even after I asked you not to you went and put your muck inside’a me. I know how bad you want me to _love_ you. I know _all of it_ , baby. Don’t try to hide from me. I see it.” She’s taunting him in the sincerest way because she wants him to say it. Say all the things she’s known for years of takin’ care of him at the diner. She just needs to _hear_ it.

She pulls away and she sees him now. She sees how badly she’s hurt him. How badly she’s made him feel. How much terror and disgust and guilt is inside of him. How much her words ruin him. He blinks twice, and she flinches while his hands extend when he grabs her face, rough.

“You wanna hear it, girl? You wanna hear how much I think you’re wrapped up in the possibility that I could’ve been a good person? I ain’t! I ain’t never gonna be! Hell – I fuckin’ stole you when the world ended because that’s the only time, I could get ya! Ya think if I’d a asked you out on a Thursday night you’da said sure?! I know better. Know the way people look at me. People know – so why the hell don’t you? You wanna hear all’a this shit, I get it, your fuckin’ mad and you can be mad. Ain’t got no right to take that away from ya’.” Her heart races and she knows he’s not letting it all out and she can assume the rest for right now, no matter how much she _needs_ to hear it. To _feel_ it.

She’s silent for a moment and before he can continue, she tells him she loves him the way he is. “I’ll tell you Daryl. I wouldn’t’a cared what anyone else thought about you, me...us. Doesn’t matter. Sure as shit doesn’t matter now cause ya didn’t even try!” She watches his worn eyes watch her face as she speaks, and he raises his hand and she flinches again. He pulls back a bit before going and holding her face in one hand before bringing the other one to hold the other side, gentle this time. She brings her hands up to cover his arms that are holding her and she can see the tears in his eyes threatening to fall. “Was so fuckin’ scared. Scared he was gon’ take ya from me already. Scared he was gonna kill me and leave you without me. Scared that if I _did_ put a – baby in you…it’d never be – mi – mine. I can’t think about – I can’—I can’t, baby I cant. I don’t mean to hurt ya., wanna _worship_ you. S’what you deserve. Sure as shit don’t deserve _this_. Some fuckin’ physco takin’ ya from no damn diner. I been buildin’ this place…so fuckin’ pathetic.” He’s nearly panting, but the words are spoken slow and she knows he means more than he can say and she’s almost sad. Sad that he’s this way. Sad that he thinks of himself this way. Sad that maybe he regrets it. That maybe they could have had something _normal_. Sad that she didn’t take _all_ of those opportunities.

He hangs his head away from her and retracts his arms back to his body, and the movement leaves her feeling reluctantly empty. Like his touch is needed now – something that makes her feel entire. Like she needs him there, because otherwise she’s nothing. Her hands find his hair to brush it away from his eyes and she grabs his own face into her hands. She looks up at him and tells him to look at her. She feels the quiver in her hands, but h turns his head and he looks her in her eyes and its then that her heart feels like its burning to watch him cry. Like it’s acid in the back of her throat threatening to come out of her mouth and it’s crushing. A horrible feeling. Tears are spilling out of his eyes and her body feels like it’s ripping apart. Her heart is in flames and tears spill out of her own eyes.

They both sob for a moment, her head coming to rest on his and she wants so badly to speak words that make sense, but she can’t. It’s like her voice box is turned off and maybe it’s a good thing – because what could she possibly have to say right now, after all of this? She feels his breath on her nose and her eyes look up to look at his lips.

“M’ sorry, Beth.” He tells her, his entire body shaking.

“Don’t.” She tells him. Her hand comes up to his face. “Don’t _fuckin_ do that.” She’s mad but she’s also sad and she doesn’t want this. Not this way. “After all’a this shit that we’ve been through in only two days! Believe that? I _hardly_ can. Cause I feel like I’ve known you forever. Like you were mine this whole time. You’re where I wanna be. Bein’ with you is scary and I don’t like you much at all yet, certainly not most of the time, but I fuckin’ love you. My body burns when I see you. I can’t live without you. Don’t _apologize_ to me _now_. Don’t be fuckin’ _weak_. I ain’t accepting that! It’s bullshit!” Her mind is spinning and she wants to be so angry. So angry that she’s here in the first place, that he didn’t think he had another choice, but also angry that he’s apologizing for it. If he did it, he should be strong and buoyant in why he did it. Hell, he built this place…for her. For _them_. To second guess all’a that now. To act pathetic and small. Doesn’t feel any sort of right.

She’s watching him with a heaving chest, and when she knows he’s defeated, staring her in her face, she takes his own in her hands and tugs his face down to meet hers and she looks into those blue orbs before slowly meeting her lips with his. The kiss is light and gentle, barely eyes connecting their lips, almost asking if it’s alright – a lot more than he’s given her. She kisses him again, harder this time and quietly tells him “ _don’t cry, baby, I’m right here.”_

_She wonders who she is – who she’s become. Why she’s fallen for this man._

Their lips move frantically against one another, parting only for the briefest of moments to gulp down air before reconnecting barely a second later as they tilt their heads in synch, practically melting into one another – two beings becoming one. One bloody beating heart, one frail and bruised soul, one pot of fire burning lust. She loosely loops her arms about his neck, tugging and twisting at the long locks at the back of his head and the nape of his neck, earning a mewl from him, encouraging him closer as she strains her body against his. Her hips are bone against his muscle and she’s practically thrusting into him, trying to gain friction as the heat between her legs tugs at her belly. His calloused hands find their way beneath the fabric of her blue jeans , caressing the supple skin of her thighs almost lovingly and as he moves higher, assuming to brush against the thin, lace fabric of her panties when he realizes she isn’t wearing any. He looks her in the eyes, almost punishing her with a stare before she smirks and urges towards him and he starts busying himself with groping the curve of her ass.

The sensation causes her to moan against his lips as she rocks her hips against him, desperate for contact, relishing in the moment when feels his erect cock press against her. At that, his hands move from groping and pinching her rear to slide along her outer thighs, moving over the button of her jeans, popping it open before ripping them down her legs and over her head. His hands follow his eyes when he parts her knees and runs one finger down her pelvis, down to her slit. Hastily, this teasing cat and mouse game grows too much for her to cope with as she begins to squirm and writhe in his grip, moving her hands to grip and pull at his shoulders, pulling him ever closer as she begins to work her hips against his hand. Though, still, it wasn't enough, she needed all of him, so she gently pushes him away before reaching up with her face and murmurs a single phrase against his lips gently and soft, her tone smooth and innocent as she speaks between gasps.

“Daryl, I need more. _Please_.”

She feels him watching her, like prey, but her eyes are clamped shut in an effort not to scream at him for more. And he, being a man of hunger and yearning for her, was far from being in the mindset to turn down such a request from his lover. This woman who he would do anything for. This woman who he couldn’t resist. So, he removed himself from her before wrapping his rough hand around her small wrist and pulling her towards him tighter, positioning her in front of him before lifting her up and hoisting her so that her bottom was in his hands once again. He brings them to the floor with nothing protecting her back and she shivers at the contact of the cold floor. He reaches for her shirt hem and rips it over her head, not bothering to get it completely off. He looks down at her and she revels in the smile he shoots at her. It’s something sacred and it’s something she hasn’t seen. She can’t help but shed tears at the sight of. He watches her and gently tells her not to cry, leaning down hesitantly to kiss her tears, and she smiles at the gesture. She can’t help the hot wetness that floods her neck and hair as she begins to cry uncontrollably. “Please don’t cry, girl. T’ hurts me too much.” He tells her, brushing her hair away from her neck, trying to help her not soak it. It gives her goosebumps up to the top of her head, and she takes a deep breath to look up at him. “I’m not sad, Daryl.” 

Her hands fuss with the buttons on his shirt and once she gets three unbuttoned, she tugs the shirt up, and he helps her by sitting up and pulling it off completely. He stands above her and she lays cold and skeletal on the hard floor, watching him. He tilts his head down to watch her and she finds arousal in the way that his hair falls in front of his face as he works the button on his jeans. She watches the pieces fall and move different ways and block her from seeing the beauty of his face. She lets her eyes move down to his hands as they pull his jeans and boxers down his legs and he again stands before her, this time shaking his hair away from his eyes so that he can look at her.

“Don’t move, girl, just wanna look at ya’.” His voice is gentle and calm and she feels the love in his voice at this moment. It’s a flood of warm, when she looks over his body. The lines that make his abdomen and chest. She tilts her head to the side and slides both legs down so that they both rest flat on the floor and she shivers again, her nipples hard and painful and she looks up at him, though his eyes are elsewhere. He reaches his hand down, gesturing her to take it, and when she does he pulls her up, both of them naked and this is it. This is what she’s wanted. For so long. To be with him in a way that makes it _okay_. Makes it normal in the sense of love and intimacy for desire on both ends. She revels in his body and she doesn’t think she’s taken this much notice in their previous endeavors. Not this way, anyway.

It’s erotic yet tender the way they fall into the familiar rhythm of lust and need, as his lips connected with her jawline, leaving a fiery trail of bites and kisses as he lines her throat, collarbone and chest with fresh marks in places that nobody could easily see, no one to see anyway, his expert fingers momentarily find their way in between her breasts and trace downwards to her bare soaked slit once more as he presses down harshly on her swollen clit before hastily but gently plunging one into her dripping cunt – crooking his finger as to make her moan or gasp, and he relishes in the way her mouth forms an “o” as he teases her. Her sounds are magic to his ears and it’s not whiny, but perfectly Beth, soft, easy, slow, _butter_. He tilts his head down to put a hardened nipple in his mouth and he sucks softly, not to hurt her. She mews and he smiles into her skin. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she bucks against him, arching her back as she moans out how ‘ _good that feels’_ and “ _please, Daryl._ ” After a few minutes of delighting in her writhing and the sounds that passes her barely swollen lips, he repositions himself, pulling away from his assault on her breasts and removes his fingers from her body, bringing them up to his own lips this time to lick them clean, a sight that coaxed a primal groan from the back of her throat as she struggles to keep herself upright. He wraps an arm around her waist like he can read her mind and she almost laughs. Laughs at the moment and at the pure happiness she feels within her.

Driven by her overpowering need for him, she places one hand on the nape of his neck as the other traces his abdomen before tugging him forwards and roughly connecting their lips again, tilting her head to delve her tongue into his hot mouth. His hands grasp at her hips, pulling her closer to him as she knocks him over as he holds her while he falls to the floor, she giggles while straddling his bare lap and she begins to rub herself against his cock as he practically growls – the sound muffled by her lips.

Though, this was far from enough to get them off and, before long, he was gently pushing her back against the floor, getting back on top of her and already having her legs wrapped around his waist, he positions his cock at her core, rubbing his thumb along the sodden slit to lubricate himself before looking up at her to meet her eyes and quickly pushing his throbbing cock into her aching cunt. The intrusion makes her cry out, breaking the gaze as she throws her head back behind her before taking a moment to adjust her position, clutching at his forearms. He places his hands on her knees and pushes them up towards her chest and she can only groan long and slowly like he’s just found the spot. After just under a minute of careful adjusting, she rolls her hips against his, the action earning a moan from both of them, and he started to move, slowly pulling out of her until just his throbbing head was encased in her wet walls before harshly snapping his hips forwards and fully sheathing himself within her once again.

She cries out, throwing her head forward and backward, digging her nails into his back as she bites down on the flesh of her lower lip, bucking up against him as he starts up a fast, harsh and eager pace. One of his hands clutches her waist, hitching her hips up to allow himself to thrust his member deeper into her, coaxing louder and shakier moans and groans from where she lay beneath him. He tells her to open her eyes, and she does. He brings one hand up to cup her chin with his hand and his thumb traces her lips, before popping it through. She sucks the skin of his finger in her hot, wet mouth and as he continues to move, her teeth seer deeper into the flesh of his finger pad. He groans himself and tells her to be careful, and she looks up at him and shows her teeth as if to tell him to shut up.

They revel in their connected bodies for several minutes, this rough, desperate pounding and thrusting against one another and she could feel a familiar pressure building in her lower abdomen – a pressure that continued to build and tighten with each passing moment as she gradually approached her peak. However, she was met with only frustration as he slowed his pace to a near stop, smirking down at her with a teasing glint in his dark blue eyes. All she could do, in turn, was pout and whimper, desperately bucking her hips against him, chasing any friction to reach her climax that he had denied her, pulling away to glare at him with lustful yet venomous eyes.

Luckily for her, though, he wouldn't deny her for long, after repositioning himself slightly, once again lines himself with her and begins to thrust his erection into her neglected, wet core. The harsh, sudden movement makes her cry out as she arches her back, an action that unintentionally caused her sensitive, hardened nipples to collide with his chest – however this is quickly silenced as he crashes his lips against hers, effectively silencing her as she loosely wraps her arms around his biceps.

Every moment drives her closer to her release as his hand strays from her hip to the space between then, quickly spreading her cum coated lower lips before moving to rub and tease her swollen clit with the rough pad of his thumb. The combination of these sensations sends her mind reeling as the growing knot in her abdomen continues to tighten frustratingly within her.

“Come home baby girl.” He whispers to her, almost sweetly and she looks up at him with that same intense gaze and he nearly loses it. She whines and her nose wrinkles as she clamps her eyes shut, the pleasure and pain overcoming her body and she digs her nails into his skin when he brings her there. She’s leaking her juices all over his cock and he keeps his rhythm, her overly sensitive core already over stimulated and she can’t control the high pitches moans and groans that leave her lips. She’s begging for him, almost painfully and she brings him home with her.

“Fuck, Beth – fuck baby – _girl_ , I’m cumming, oh yeah, girl, you feel – so fuckin’ – _good_ – oh…” His voice is like music to her ears and she smiles wickedly, opening her eyes and licking her lips when she watches his face as he meets her, and she’s surprised when his eyes bore into hers, his seed spraying her insides and he smiles down at her, spent. She rolls her hips against him, now his overly sensitive member twitching inside of her and she locks her heels together behind his back, pushing him into her as far as he’ll go. He mewls and groans into her mouth as he leans down to kiss her. It’s soft and it’s sweet and it’s unusual, but she kisses him back gingerly, rubbing his biceps almost reassuring as he comes down from his high.

His forehead comes to meet hers and they’re both panting heavily – exhausted but blissful. He moves his hips to withdraw from her body and it’s nearly painful – the loss of the connection, but he moves his head to kiss her breasts, then her abdomen, and then the spot between her legs. She’s barely had time to come back down before he’s hitching her thighs up to her belly, delving his tongue into her.

“Beautiful,” he breathes into her and the shockwaves make her convulse slightly. He hasn’t had a moment to truly memorize her here, and he takes his time taking her in. When she whimpers and looks down at him, he glances up at her, smirking slightly and lowering his head. He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, rubbing the flat of it against her clit. “Oh my god, Daryl!” she shouts at this new sensation.

He moves his hand up and traces her before slowly working his fingers in and out of her, almost testing her keeping his tongue pleasuring the small bud of nerves at the top of her core. She mewls and squirms beneath his touch, lost to the pleasure being struck on her. He’s had enough experience with partners and had a few actions up his sleeves that he is sure she has never dreamed of – he hopes at least. While sucking and licking her most sensitive spot, he crooks his fingers forward inside her again, pressing and dragging along the rough patch on her front wall. She bucks her hips up and arches her back with a gasp, clearly never have been stimulated in such a way before. Not by him. Not this way. It brings him satisfaction to know or think that no one, not even herself, has given her pleasure like this before. His goal is to bring her to a new height of home that she has certainly never felt.

He continues his assault on her, crooking his fingers to hit that hidden spot buried within her, his mouth lapping and suckling at her, and he occasionally making his way down to her entrance to trace the rim with his tongue and push in alongside his fingers, his other hand reaching up to play with one of her tight nipples.

She’s lost to the new sensations he’s overwhelming her with. Her fingers clawing at his hair, her feet digging into his shoulders as she lifts her hips up and rocks them forward in a steady rhythm to meet his mouth. Her head is thrown back on the floor, mouth agape when she mewls in frenzy, eyes tight shut in desire. Then she feels something. Something deep within her body that she has never felt before. Not from this. This is not to say she has never had an orgasm from this kind of act before. She has pleasured herself many times in the past, had boys go down on her before, but this time, something was definitely different. Maybe it’s because it’s _him_. Because it’s _right_.

He’s rolling his tongue over her and it’s electrifying, the shocks rolling through her body lighting her on fire. She laughs and moans at the same time, earning a smile from him and she shoots him her gaze, and this is it. She knows she’s done. That this is where she wants to be. She runs her hand down her body and through his hair, tugging and pulling – harder than she intends to which he growls and bits her gently, sending her body upright.

“Oh my g-od Daryl!” She nearly shouts before spilling into his mouth. Her body all but convulses and she’s almost purring like a cat. He watches her come down, her shoulders hitting the floor with the gentlest thud, her arms reaching up behind her, her ribs poking her skin, pulling at her own hair. Her chest heaves with tired breaths and before she looks back down to him, he’s up by her face. He’s watching her like she’s used to, catching her when her eyes advert every way and she’s entranced in this moment – they both are. She can’t help the smile she shoots him, and he smiles at her in his all but Daryl way. Her hand comes up to his neck and she tilts his head to meet hers, their lips connecting. It’s the feeling she’s begged to feel for so long, and maybe even more. He peppers her lips with his own, before breathing hot into her mouth.

“I need you, Beth.” He tells her simple but quiet, and she kisses him back gently, telling him that she already knows.

* * *

“Hand me the glittery one.” He moves to the sofa to retrieve the sparkly white sphere wrapped in tissue paper, peeling it back to see the flicker. He wraps the string around his finger, looking at it before handing it to her. He looks to her, her skin aglow with the incandescent glow from the twinkling white lights on the tree. It’s like she’s dipped her body in oil when he looks at her, smooth enough to reach for her and run his tongue all over her. He refrains and she smiles and thanks him when he places the fragile glass ball in her hand. He watches her reach on her tip toes, memorizing her body. The way her hair flows backwards as her arms reach above her, the buttery curls almost like a mirror. The way her legs flex up to her perfectly round bottom in the thin gray sweater material of her pants. His eyes roam to her middle, the soft skin exposed where her pants don’t cover and he moves forward to place his hands on her. His arms wrap gently around her, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. He breathes for a moment, vanilla and sweet enveloping his senses and just so her.

“Baby, I can’t reach – do it for me?” She asks sweetly, crooning her neck to meet him. She nearly giggles when he squeezes her, kissing her collarbone before taking the ornament in his hand and asking her where she wants it. She points and he places, taking a step back to admire her decision.

She’d made him bring the tree inside after ridding of the madman outside and she’d stayed inside, like he’d asked her, got the water ready for the root, and cleared the perfect space in front of the large bay windows. She kept herself from pouting when he told her they’d light it up tomorrow because things were in the attic and he wanted to make dinner. She didn’t argue – she was starving. They’d slept together for the first night that night, and she can only explain their night endeavor as making love. Because before shutting her eyes for the night, her hands snaked around his abdomen, rolling him over to meet her. From there, the slow kisses, soft touches, and slow rhythm began. It was territorial – full of need, but slow and paced. Deep and melodic. Something she could only relate to a feeling of _love_. He’d kissed her body everywhere that mattered, slowly and gently, almost learning her. They moaned together in arousal, came together, and finally fell asleep together.

She’d opened her eyes to his chest and her heart danced when she felt her legs tangled in his. His chin hair prickled her forehead and his fingers tickled her bare back. He’d kissed her good morning, washed her body in the shower, squeezed her hair in a towel, helped her pull her shirt over her head. Pulled her into the kitchen and sat her at the counter while he made them breakfast.“It’s perfect. Merry Christmas, Daryl.” She says, looking over at him with the eyes of a deer, wide and innocent and he laughs, tells her “s’not Christmas yet, girl.” He watches her lashes flutter to the tips of her cheeks and she replies and tells him that it’s Christmas when the tree goes up.

He can’t help but revel in the moment. To watch her throat move when she swallows, the way her lips pout when he says something she doesn’t like, and he cant help but chuckle.

“That right?” He asks, teasing her.

“S’right!” She smiles brightly and runs to him, pulling his neck down to her almost painfully. He’s never seen her this way. This beautiful. She’s surprised him. In every way possible. In the way she’d killed that man for them. In the way she’s been unapologetic in everything she’s done. In how she’s broken him down to this man he didn’t recognize, someone he thinks he maybe likes.

He nearly falls backwards when she wraps her legs around him, his hands instinctively catching her. He looks up to her and she isn’t smiling as brightly when she asks him.

The words tumble out like vomit, and she isn’t prepared. “What happened to my family?” It’s almost sheepish, like she’s scared to ask. She probably should be. She didn’t take the time to wonder about the perfect time to ask. Didn’t mull it in her mind for days, anxious. She needed to know.

She focuses on his face, the expression there undetectable and maybe that’s an answer enough. She can feel the rubber band pulling of her heart, and it sinks to the bottom of her pit. The remainder of the smile left on her lips soon leaves and she’s just watching – knowing, most likely that the thing she’s been dreading is ultimate truth.

He thinks his own heart stops and he searches her face, wondering if maybe she already knows. He should’ve been prepared for this. He should’ve known she’d ask. Without realizing, he’s walked them into the kitchen where he places her down onto the counter, standing in front of her looking less than himself. _She must know_ , he thinks. He’s trying, really trying to tell her, but scared – terrified even. Because it’s the hard, nasty truth, and he can’t bear to hurt her this way.

“Dunno, really don’t.” His answer is simple as he follows her eyes, almost questioning for more, like _that can’t be it_ and her head hangs, eyes adverting down to her fingers to fidget. It wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. Did she expect worse? Or better? She’d thought he would _know_. _Something_ , anyway. Even the smallest amount. But _nothing_? She’s gone over in her mind a million reasons why she didn’t think to find anyone that morning, why she hadn’t taken the time to find daddy and kiss him goodbye. So many why’s wondering in her brain and it’s too much.

She whispers a quiet, barely audible gasped “No.” before catching her breath. “How do you not know, Daryl?” She finally brings her eyes back to see him, her voice soft, incredulous even. Her eyes sting with the tears brimming there, but she stares back up at him, her eyes wide with wonder – fury, and it’s blinding. “You didn’ take the time to wonder? To maybe… _check_?” She’s not aware that she’s aggressive when she asks him, teeth snapping, almost throwing her body forwards at him, and she watches his shoulders tense when he sheepishly shrugs. Her body wants to scream at him _why? "_ Dontcha think ya’ shoulda _checked_ , Daryl?!” her pitch is pleading, and he wants to scream back at her. Because damn him for fuckin’ up again. For never _ever_ doin’ things the right way. For bein’ so _fuckin’_ stupid. He can’t help but watch her – guiltily, like a scolded boy who’s ashamed of what he’s done. _He is_. He’s holding her calves, and the shrug to pull away burns him. Her legs slink down and she leaves the counter, standing in front of him – as if a last resort. He looks at her again, empty. He _wishes_ he knew. He knows she’s disgusted. He can feel her body still, cold, probably the most angry she’s been with him, and her tension scares him.

She nods slowly, painful, sarcastic, as understanding tears forming in her eyes. Understanding of how much of a fucking _asshole_ he really was. How much courage she’d mustered up to ask. How much it took to gain the strength. How _disappointing_. How stupid of her to ever think of him superior. She swallows once, hard, forcing the bitter taste down her throat and her hands go up to his arms, squeezing lightly, almost begging. Begging him for something _better_. For something logical that made sense. Something that made it _okay_. Something that would save them from breaking all that they’ve built. All that _she’s_ built. She feels his restraint and she _knows_. Knows he has nothing. Tears spill freely from her eyes, but not just for her. For her momma and her daddy and her sister and her brother and for _them_. Because yes, she could forgive him for a lot – but not for _this_. Because she thought he’d be better. She takes a deep breath, releasing it through her mouth, and the high pitched sound makes his knees weak because this was it. This was something he could’a given her.

“Take me back, then.” She says coldly.

They’re headed back there, and she knows it. The place they’d escaped. The one between them.

Something she knew would kill him. Because she hasn’t asked this of him. Hasn’t threatened him this way. Hasn’t been this full of fury. She spins her head forward, looking away from him to mask the impending argument. She doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t care about his feelings. This was her life – no matter how things were now, he’s taken so much away from her and she needed to _go back_. She knows he would never bring her back.

He tenses behind her, rage fueling his body, spinning in his eyes and he grabs her arm to pull her back to him. “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, girl. Know I can’t take ya back.” He yells at her, his brows furrowed between his eyes. She’s watching him and her belly wants to riot, send acid up and out of her mouth, but she instead pulls her arm forcefully back.

Her face scrunches up in disgust, and its wounding and it hurts. She shakes her head steadily and sneers at him. “You were _right_. You _ain’t_ a good person.” Her teeth snake the comment and she hopes he’s hurt. Hopes he knows he’s pathetic. Because she’s tried. Tried so hard to understand and see it his way. But she can’t – not anymore.

“You’re selfish. Only care about _one_ person. Don't give a shit about me!” She holds one finger up and points it hard at his chest. “You’re _pathetic_.” She spits at him and he pushes her backwards. Her eyes are ablaze and she swats at his hands that come to hold her arms to her body. “Fuck you.” She spits, shaking him from her grip. He rears her up until her back hits the couch and he picks her up easily, bracing her against the back of the sofa. His lips are inches from her and she can’t see the look on his face. It’s clouded by hatred and deceit and she’s so angry. Nothing can reason with her. No feeling can overcome the rage inside of her. Because why? Why couldn’t he take a second to think about anyone other than himself? Think that maybe he should’a done something for her. It infuriates her in a way that no other thing that he’s done yet has. He watches her and she watches him back, but there is something different here. Because this time there isn’t masked desire – no wonder in her mind. He’s painted the picture for her and she can see it perfectly clearly now.

“Get off of me, Daryl.” She says, warning. He blinks once before he kisses her, _hard_. He can’t help it. He’s hurt. Hurt that he’s hurt her. Hurt that she’s hurt him back. Hurt that they’re back here – probably unhealthier.

Not _this_ time.

"Daryl, I don't know what you think you're doing but _stop_." She didn't recognize her own voice. It was several octaves higher than usual due to the fear that suddenly constricted her throat until she could barely get a word out and sounded abnormally submissive and pleading. She’s almost horrified, pulling her arms toward her body out of his grasp.

Instead of doing as she asked, he acted as if she hadn't spoken at all and instead unintentionally intimidated her, arching his hips forward into her, and he swears he hears her moan. She’s trying to get _away_ from him.

Before she has a chance to begin to process what was happening between them, he'd reached down to the brim of her knit pants, and tugs them down, pushing them to the floor with his hands as he bends before her onto his knee, keeping her gaze. He thinks the hatred in her eyes might scar him – physically and _psychologically_. He traces her legs with coarse hands, and the heat of them nearly scald her skin. His fingers reach the hem of her shirt, pulling it up with his hands. He watches her as he pulls it over her head, and when he's revealed her breasts, he stares down with a look that was nothing shy of insulting, and he reaches one hand down to tear her panties away, her body now defenseless against him.

As if she hadn't been already.

Amazed and horrified both at the impulse itself and the fact that she couldn't seem to resist the urge, she vainly tried to cover herself, hands going up to cup her breasts in her hands, hiding them from him. Because right now – after all of this – _this_ was violation. This was humiliation and she refused to allow him to take her this way. She refuses to come to grips with the situation - with _him_. She fought him. She fought as hard as she could, watching the muscle in his jaw ticking away as he chews on his cheek, set on rousingly subduing her, pressing her harder against the sofa back when she tried to slip around him.

Her eyes see red, anger fading and being replaced with pure craze. Deciding to go on the attack, she reached up and grabbed a handful of that dark beautiful hair and yanked for all she was worth. She thinks she gasps when his two hands come up to swat her breasts, leaving livid red handprints on her otherwise creamy olive skin. She isn’t sure if she’s repulsed, between the shock waves that overcome her. _What the fuck?_ She unclenches her fists from his hair, only to find her own hair gripped sharply at the base of her skull, fistful of blonde as he twisted her locks around his arm and tugged, hard enough to smack the back of her head against his fist, forcing her to arch my neck as his lips descended on her delicate throat. The sound that escapes her mouth are nothing short of betrayal because as much as it’s full of pain, its stained with erotic mewls.

He licked and sucked and lightly bit his way up to her ear, where he whispered in a tone that was entirely too civilized for what he was doing to her, and just that much more terrifying because of it, “ _Fight me girl._ You ain’t got no idea how much I love it to finally _put_ you in your _place_." He’s vicious in her ear and the words are revolting in her brain. She wants to whirl a ball of saliva at him, though she refrains. Not playing into his game. Won’t give him that satisfaction to play too.

"Daryl. What the fuck are you doing? Stop." She tells him again, more calmly than she means, as if she was begging him to do the opposite.

Until then, her legs remained closed, and at least she had that kind of last defense. But before she can revel in her gain, he’s reaching down, tracing his fingers over her belly and she shivers at the contact, goosebumps forming on her cool skin, his calloused fingers trailing over her them, warm but unwelcome. But then he strips her of that - however tenuous the illusion of safety - too, driving his hand between them, until she’s almost hung on his arm as his hand reaches the couch at her side, pinching his way down the tender insides of her thighs, making her whine and try to get away from his painful caresses. 

She revolts at the betrayal of her body as she arches into him, like she’s inviting him in – like she’s accepting it. She thinks she doesn’t mean to, but why was this happening to her? Why after all of the emotions and the rage did he have the ability to break her down enough to let her body make it’s own decisions without her consent? 

As soon as there was enough room, he moves one foot and then the other between hers and begins to spread them, taking her feet with him, holding her exposed and vulnerable to him, off balance, so she has no choice but to lean into him for support – and his frame is still _comforting_ to her and it’s repulsive that in this moment she finds solace in him – _still_. Because he feels like safety and home, and the realization makes her flutter her eyes closed in reluctance.

He all but slaps his hand up into that tantalizing area he’s keeping so exposed, making her jump, eyelids jutting back open. His lips find her ear, his hot breath grazing the skin there. Her eyes instinctively shut, goosebumps prickling her skin. " _This_ ," he rasps into her ear as he tugs almost gently on her hair just because he could, "this is _mine_ , and I’ll take it - _use_ it - any time I like, whether you want me to or not." His words make her cringe and through her disappointment, his tongue licks her neck slowly. "And you know I can _always_ make you want it." This is what’s sick about them – about _her_. He’s right.

She rejects his lips at her mouth, tries to crane her head away from him, though unless, she wasn't going anywhere until he let her. She realizes how sick this is and how one moment they could be okay, good even and the next – _here_. Because he was incapable of normality.

Seconds later, she finds herself thrown onto the sofa, and she does her best to keep her wits about her, trying to scramble to her feet, and she almost gets there. But a hand closes around her knee and she’s tossed back to where he was kneeling on the sofa next to her.

 _Slowly_.

 _Unavoidably_.

So that she could feel _every_ incessant, humiliating second of her defeat.

She continued to fight him as much as she could, but he’s twice her size. She knows. She watches him, eyes floating to the spot between his legs, and before she lets herself smile, the acid in her throat brings her back. If he wanted her - and judging by the huge bulge in his pants, he definitely did - he was going to _have_ her.

And she knows there was absolutely _nothing_ she could do to stop him. Did she want to stop him? Time stands still for a moment while she’s staring into him, and it’s all there – in her face – the reality of her life. How every moment was consumed by this man that she didn’t know, that she thought she could save, his life better for her. How many nights she’d touch herself to thoughts of him, how much life he breathed into her without physically ever even touching her. How pathetic of a thought. How desperate had she been, pining for a man double her age – someone no one in her family would accept, she knew. How people would look at her with disgust had they known.

How she couldn’t be happy with the men in her life because her mind wandered. To a man who sat alone in a diner booth, with only a cup of coffee. It’s disgraceful, really. Not something she should be proud of, but ashamed of. How disappointed her mama would be at her. Why was she this way? This is what she _wanted_.

He moves to straddle her, legs on either side of her hips, an awkward weight upon her middle and she focuses on breathing, dragging her eyes up his body to meet his. There are so many emotions there, this she’s sure of. Hatred – anger – rage – frustration – arousal – _love_.

It’s there – staring her in the face and she knows better than to think she doesn’t look at him the same way. She just hope’s he’s smart enough to see it too.

He watches her, and she quietly tells him she can’t breathe. She watches his eyes twitch before he’s on his feet. She breathes deep, eyes on the ceiling before taking a large breath, swinging her legs over the sofa, sitting there in a puddle of her own hatred before glancing up at him, and he’s there but this time he’s looking at her like he wants to be there – like he cares, and he’s _waiting_ for her. He tells her to get up, and she’s incredulously looking at him through disgraced eyes. She gets to her feet and she juts her chin out to him, eyes fierce. His hands come to touch hers, the touch unexpected and unwittingly she shakes her hands away from his before turning and walking away from him, rounding the sofa and reaching the stairs. She stops her feet before the first step, and opens her mouth.

_Asks him if he’s coming._

She’s decided. _She’s sick too_.

She doesn’t need an answer, leading them upstairs to the bedroom, and before she enters the room, she whips her body around to him, free and open and she throws her hands up in defeat. It’s a horrible fire that’s burning in her and she’s angry for it. He watches her body, grazes it from the bottom to top with his eyes, his hands reaching out to grab her upper arms, his fingers roaming the skin there, almost caressing her and her eyes flutter in comfort before he pushes her backwards into the room. Tells her to lay down. She does. Watches when he pulls down his jeans, and peels his shirt over his head.

He moves towards her, gripping her calves in his hands before jutting them up into her body. She feels the length and strength of him against the back of her thigh - the raw threat of his cock - being dragged against the tender skin near her most sacred parts as he marked his territory with a moist trail of pre-cum - and soon she feels that familiar pressure against her entrance. She holds his stare and he wants to speak but he doesn’t. Doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing _to_ say.

He bends his head to pinch a nipple into his mouth between his teeth. She almost wishes that she was flaccid and uninterested. But she wasn't, she knew better – and what he was doing didn't help. She wanted him – that much she knew, whether she was proud to admit it or not. It was evident.

He doesnt remain there long, rearing back, reaching her knees to spread her legs - although she tries but doesn’t try enough to peddle them away from his hands. She stares down at him through hungry eyes and she can’t hide the arousal between her knees. She can feel the heat of his stare on her and she bucks her hips to gain his attention. To do _something_. To touch her. He’s good at this, almost too good. At tormenting her – keeping her on her toes. At pulling her to the edge with him and then pushing her back at the starting point. Because she’d built so much for him – just have it torn down by the same man. And she’s disappointed in him – because she knows he’s better than this, all of it. But her anger won’t let her forget.

It’s a constant game of push and pull, a mental tug of war and she’s tired – so tired of trying to tell herself she should do this or that, but her actions never what her mind tells her.

She feels him immediately beginning to inch his way inside her, the tip grazing her taught lips, teasing before popping through. His body is stiff but mobile and her head leans back into the mattress, the euphoria of him coming back home inside her. Because it’s where he belongs, and she knows it. But the pleasure only lasts a moment because she’s not only angry with him, but herself for not being strong enough to say no and mean it.

_Tug of war._

"No, Daryl, don't - you can't -" her breath whimpered, writhing beneath him, trying to get away, but she soon realizes that it looked – and felt – more as if she were encouraging him, so she stops. Her movements still and her mouth closes, her eyes fixing on the ceiling above them because it’s too much. Too much for her mind to handle in this short period of time.

He was _there_.

 _Daryl_ was there.

Where she _didn't_ want him to be.

Where she didn't _want_ to want him to be.

Because she had always thought of her body as her own until that moment of true, blunt clarity. Because although it belongs to her – she belongs to him – in so many more ways than the front of her mind knows. It’s deeper than that. Deeper than lust or love – it’s need and worship. It’s desperate need to be with this person who’s given her no other option. It’s not having life without this person. It’s sickness that she knows isn’t right, but her mind is too weak to fight it.

He was proving to her, in the vilest of manners, that it had been _his_ all along.

With _or_ without her consent.

What she wanted didn't matter.

Maybe he just knew.

He possessed her more completely than anyone ever had before in her entire life, consumed her entire being, never easing back, never letting up, forcing her to accept his thick, imposing presence within her. Making her confront it head on the ultimate, humiliating truth she always knew, but never really wanted confirmed - at least not to this extent.

She didn't just like it, She _loved_ it.

Loved _him_. Loved this person who was a constant in her life. Probably the only one. Someone who she could count on. Someone who she knew – needed her so much more. Because she knows he’s weaker than her, maybe not physically but he’d be nothing without her. He couldn’t bear the thought of this without her. It wasn’t human nature, but just that all the same.

Her mind would probably never be entirely on board, but her body was, and Beth knew they both felt how she was now practically gushing around him, her clit swelling and aching, her sorrowful mewling now almost dissipated to be replaced by throaty moans at every violent deep thrust of his hips. His body connected with her in the deepest of sin, yet the most beautiful virtue. This was life’s work. This is what bodies were meant for. Atonement aside.

But still, her mind was trying to rebel. She should _not_ do this – couldn't _possibly_ find pleasure in how he was treating her - manhandling her – disregarding everything she asked of him, and her mind refused to accept defeat, so she stages one last ditch rally. 

"No, no!" She’s stressed, eyes closed, head whipping back and forth. "Get out! GET OUT OF ME! Get out – get out – GET. OUT!"

He nearly topples on top of her when her screeches rattle through his ears, and he pulls himself out of her, looking at her with something she can only describe as fear.

Her eyes open wide at her success and she looks down at him with a wild gaze. It’s then that she felt her hair yanked viciously again from above her, his free hand coming up to cup her throat, squeezing almost gentle but just enough that she could feel the absolute power those fingers had over her as he lined himself at her center before he thrusts himself into her again, just once, seating himself again so deeply that she moved her legs automatically - trying to get purchase to arch herself away from him - as if they were planted on the mattress instead of held uselessly in the air.

And, to her abject mortification, her body contracts once, hard, her body clenching at him. There was no way he wouldn't have noticed it, and when she hears his quiet chuckle, the shame in her body takes over and she dips her head back, defeated.

His savage snarl only added to the sensations that were swelling and multiplying rampantly within her body no matter how hard she tried to tamp them down. "I _knew_ that this was what you needed - be taken down a tack or two - or _ten_. Need’a remind ya’ whose ya’ are, and what, exactly, it means to be _mine_.”

He rolls his fingers from her hair to her lips, down to her throat, over her chest and down her abdomen to rest on her swollen and overly sensitive slit. As his fingers begin to search and roll over her clit, it flushes from its hiding place and is consequently just that much more sensitive, she knows she’s lost.

He’s won. Again.

He’s had her, in every possible way a man could have a woman – vulnerable, bound, beneath him, held open for his penetration, and enjoying all of it, the slickness of her obvious arousal easing his possession of her, her tortured bud manipulated and manhandled until she could feel the inevitable, tingling fringes of the beginning of the end of her own sanity.

She didn't want to cum like this. Didn't want to reward him for the way he was treating her.

But the choice about whether or not she had experienced that ultimate pleasure had been ripped from her.

As those sensations began to build, as he pinched, then flicked her, rubbing and tapping her, the strength of his body holding her still for his attentions, he looked down at her and she could see the pure triumph there that only heightened as he locked his eyes with hers.

"You're about to cum, aren't you, girl? You want this, baby. Need it. Don’t ya’ _pretty_ girl?" She could hear in the raw husk of his tone that he was at least as close as she was. She’s come to know those sounds and the way his hips slow then speed in a way that’s erratic, unable to control himself.

She knows he’s about to explode inside her and she knows he won’t pull out of her. That last thing that she could possibly have over him – he had that too. She knew better. Knows she’ll get pregnant this way. She’s young, fertile – lost a baby once. Wonders if it could happen again. It’s an emotion that’s fresh enough to brim her eyes with tears and she nearly screams at him again to get out of her. But instead, her eyes clench closed, and she bites her lip hard enough to break skin when she reaches her release, his cock entering her at speed he hasn’t used before, and it’s hitting a spot so deep inside of her she thinks it’s in her belly button. It’s a sensation that makes her scream, releasing all over his cock and she can hear him call her dirty when she does it, the warm fluid leaking out all over him.

“God – fuck, girl.” He mumbles and he groans low, leaning his head down to her, bringing his lips down to hers and he sickly kisses her and empties inside her. His hot cum comes in hot spurts, streams inside of her painting her with seed. The tears fall from her eyes. At all of it – at the defeat, the pleasure, the sadness, and the happy. She feels him crawling up her body and though her eyes are shut she can see him. So clearly. More clearly than with her eyes open. His hand comes to her face gingerly, wiping her tears and she can’t help herself. She sobs freely, unloading.

She’s sickened. Angry, so angry. She’s tired, full of loss and shame.

It causes a knee jerk reaction when she hears him whisper that he’s sorry. Her eyes flash open, keeping her eyes adverted from him, fixing anywhere but at him. It was like cutting her open and then kissing her wound. Like he was teasing her and she’s had enough.

“Fuck you.” She says, quiet, but he knows. Knows she means it this time. She lies there, and it takes her entire being not to shout at him and spit at him to get off of her, instead waiting until he rolls off, but she can feel his gaze hot and cutting at her, but she refuses. Slowly, she gets up off the bed and walks out of the bedroom and back down the stairs. Dresses quietly, dangerous. He’s followed her down almost like a scorned puppy who only knows to love, but that isn’t this. She knows that now.

* * *

It’s been months.

Doesn’t know how many, but days turned into weeks and weeks began to turn into months. The snow stopped falling and the buds began to bloom. Birds started to sing in the morning, the sun setting later.

They started hunting together, he’d kill and she’d help when he brought the meat inside by cutting it into portions and storing it. Began to can things like carrots and peppers and things he’d planted out back. She’d learned how to kill those things – walkers. It didn’t get any easier to watch people try to eat her, her mind secretly settled when she’d look at each one before the kill – just to be sure – sure it wasn’t one of _them_.

It has felt like forever that she’s been here. Even more so now that they don’t speak.

The house is quiet, unlike how it should be for somewhere so beautiful. He’d bring her things sometimes, after coming back from a run that she didn’t go on. Started to know what she liked and didn’t. The silence was deafening. From inside the shower where they’d go together, to dinner where they wouldn’t mutter a sound saved for the scrapes of a fork or knife. To the silence between them in the desperate moments when he’d reach over in the middle of the night to wake her, climbing on top of her and connecting their bodies, their moans become the only thing she’s used to hearing and she sometimes wonders if she even has a voice anymore.

It’s sad and it isn’t what she wanted.

But this was how it was.

They’re out about 10 miles from her count, raiding through a convenience store and she’s browsing the isles, though not much left. She grabs a few cans of creamed chicken soup, a box of noodles, and a stick of apple scented deodorant.

It’s when she hears unfamiliar shuffling from behind her when she drops her basket on the ground with an ear crushing sound that she’s got her knife in hand, whipping around fast. She sees a flash of tan clothing and curly long dark hair, briefly before looking over him to see. She notices the silver badge on his chest and her heart skips a beat. A cop.

She asks who he is.

There it is, her voice.

The man’s long silver gun is raised at her, and she blinks blank at him, before asking again. The man watches her, before lowering his pistol, huffing like he’s almost relieved. He smiles gentle at her and she can see that he’s sincere. “Name’s Rick. I’m a deputy.” He tells her and her breathing speeds, her heart racing, body thumping with adrenaline. This was it – her moment – the chance to be saved. To finally be free of him. To go home – wherever that may be.

“Are you alright?” He asks her gingerly, stepping towards her, and without thinking, she instinctively takes a step back and he puts his hand up. It’s funny, really. Because her mind has become so fucked up to the point that there was help. Clear and _here_ and ready to help her and take her home and she’s flinching away.

She thinks she faints when she hears him breathe her name in question. She looks up, almost afraid, and into his eyes. Of course. It’s him – someone she knows. Someone her daddy knows. Her heart skips a beat. She’s that girl again, if only for a moment.

“Rick Grimes.” She says, almost too quiet for even herself to hear, she thinks she hears him breathe a sigh of relief. She steps towards him, before stopping herself.

“Your folks are awful worried ‘bout you, Beth. Where have you been?” His whisper is harsh like he’s being careful, and she comes to realize that he is. Because he’s taking in his surroundings and probably wondering what the _hell_ she’s doing there – but then she realizes what he’s said to her.

Her voice is broken when she tries to find the words, but he hears them. “Mama and daddy are okay?” She asks, and watches him smile, his head nodding in assurance. “Yeah – yeah they’re alright. Offered your home to me and my family…worried sick about you, though. What _happened_ , Beth?” He’s gentler this time, extending his hand to her, and her mind tells her to take it, but she watches him stiffen and raise his gun to what’s behind her, and she already knows what, or who is there. Before she has a moment to turn to him, she shouts at the top of her lungs, scaring herself.

“No!” It startles all of them, and she shuts her eyes tightly before saying the word again, this time calmly but pleading.

She looks back to Rick and he’s confused – she can tell by the furrow in his brow, but his hands are steady, ready to shoot. She feels his hard body at her back, can almost feel the knob of him in his pants at her ass, and she nearly sinks in. Grabs his hand at her side, the other gripped on his knife, ready to ward.

She’s brought back then, and even though they haven’t spoken in what feels like years, it’s an unspeakable language. She needs him, this she knows, and her family – her family by blood is at her fingertips, but this man behind her. He’s her family. He’s the family that she _can’t_ lose. The one who she’d undeniably _die_ without.

His hand is clammy in her own, but she’s squeezing – nearly tight enough to cut off all circulation but she’s too overwhelmed to notice. Her heart thumps against her chest, her eyes wide with rush and she speaks before she realizes she’s going to.

“Don’t shoot.” She tells the deputy, stepping to cover him.

She watches him with wide eyes, and he cocks his head a little to the left, confusion and burrow between his brows and he almost looks like he’s ready to shoot anyway.

“The _hell_ you doin’ with this man, Beth? This _Dixon_.” He all but sneers his name, and it sends shivers down her spine. _Daryl Dixon._

Beth _Dixon_.

 _Hers_.

“M’okay, Mr. Grimes.” She’s no coward, and she knows where she is. Knows who she is. Knows it looks utterly ludicrous. Because Rick knows that she doesn’t know him – not really, not before this anyway. He probably knows the situation without asking, being a cop, but does he? Maybe not, because she’s _sick_ , and it’s not the standard outcome of this. _Kidnap_.

“M’where I wanna be. Honest.” She says, almost proudly. She can feel his breath on her neck, fast and heavy and she feels the tension – the rage and the worry, but she refuses to let them overtake her. Because she’s gotten so far. She knows it’s the sickness talking, but she also knows that she can’t be away from him. Had the people who raised her – who she thought she loved most in the whole world at her fingertips, and she had made her decision.

It wasn’t with them.

“The hell you talkin’ about, Beth? Do you even know this man? How did…” She cuts him off mid sentence by repeating herself. Telling him she’s right where she wants to be. That everything is alright. _To tell her mama and daddy she’s just fine._

She looks back to Rick’s eyes, and she thinks she’s asking him with her orbs – to please – _listen_. To believe. Because she can’t. Can’t go back – can’t leave him.

“Don’t feel right about this…” Rick’s voice seems like it’s a million miles away – like it’s fading, too far in the distance to hear. That’s when she begs him. “Please, I promise.” She tells him, and that’s when she feels him squeeze her hand back.

Her shoulders slump when she watches him lower his gun, breathing in what she assumes is relief, before slowly nodding at her and telling her he will if that’s what she really wants. She tells him it is.

Daryl is stone behind her, and she squeezes his hand again to let him know that she’s there, and to make sure that he’s there too. They don’t move, wait for Rick to mov, and he does. Walks towards and around them, hesitant when he does, and she looks to him again, nods because really – she’s just fine.

It may be the last string connecting her to her family, passing by her now, and the thought crosses her mind a million times over, wrapping itself around her brain and it’s screaming at her to _go_. But she can’t, her feet are stuck to the floor, stuck against him and she really just can’t. Needs to be with him.

His hand squeezes hers back.

* * *

She fingers the glass jar in her lap, the unlit warm scent filling her nose.

The bounce of the truck hurts her back and she winces once, before he’s asking her what that was back there. His tone is anything but gentle, and she knows he’s not ready to make nice. She snaps her head away from the window to look at him. It’s a cruel jerk, a violent movement, more than she thinks she’s done in months.

She watches him watch her, scary that his eyes are so adverted, though the roads are desolate, and she laughs. Because, really? After all of that? She laughs at him, mocking and powerful – knowing he’s beneath her in this moment, that she has more than he does for once, and she savors the moment. Teases him. Kills him almost.

“What you think that was, Daryl? You worried again? Scared maybe I _like_ him, maybe he likes _me_? Gimme’ a break.” She scoffs, turning her head from him and it’s when she feels his hand around the back of her neck that she feels calm. The heat from his palm burning on her cold skin, and it’s close to heaven. She leans back into his hand and churns her neck to feel the warmth spread, his fingers moving against her skin almost lovingly. Her eyes flutter closed, and she smiles into the gesture before opening her eyes back up and looking at him again, telling him he has nothing to worry about. “I’m still here, ain’t I?” She asks and she’s not condescending this time – she’s serious because yes, she is still here, with him.

He scoffs, chewing the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it out of the window. Shouldn’t be smokin’ anyway.

“ _Fought_ for you back there. _Begged_ to stay. He coulda shot you. Maybe I shoulda’ _let_ him. Then I could’a gone _home_.” The laugh escapes her lips before she has time to think, and she thinks she regrets the word as soon as it leaves her lips, and its then that he stops the truck, the wheels burning gravel behind them as he jolts them both forward. She looks to him – to the fire he’s got, looking back at her. He’s nodding his head to her, almost cunningly, and he tells her to go.

The word stuns her. Her body is still, and the candle has dropped to the ground as she tries cope. _Go_.

“Get, girl. Get the fuck out!” He screams at her and it’s the first time in the entire time she’s known him that she flinches. The first time that his words physically hurt her. Makes her feel sick. Makes her stomach turn in a horrible knot, and it’s that moment that she quietly mouths the word “ _no_.”

“ _Yeah_. Yeah, girl. Get the fuck out, _now_.” His hand reaches over her and viciously opens her door, throwing it open, unbuckling her seatbelt for her. No. he can’t.

Her head shakes side to side like she’s begging because she takes it back, all of it. The mocking – the teasing, the hurt, the blaming. She takes it all fucking back right fucking now.

“I ain’t get---” Before she can finish her sentence he’s shoving her out of the truck before she can say no and she’s desperately grabbing at his arm, her nails digging into his skin, probably tearing when she hears him growl, and she’s fighting. She’s fighting harder than she’s ever fought. Didn’t even fight him this much when he took her. She’s screaming to him, begging him – yelling to stop it. He doesn’t. His arm slips from her grip and her bottom slams the ground – hard. It’s pain – immediate and it’s cunning. The cold hard ground is where she belongs and where she should be – for bein’ so fuckin’ stupid. Still, she screams to him – tears streaming down her face in steady streams. She’s never been this scared. Scared of being alone – being without him.

She can’t. Not without him. She needs him. So she tells him.

“Please, I need you – _Please_!” Her throat shreds raw with her vocal shrill cries as they rip through the air and she hopes a walker comes and eats her because it’d be easier than this. Easier than the pain of being left. Easier than being without him. She _can’t_. It’s sad that it’s come to this – making her beg, and he’s cruel for it. After all of that, to be so close and so far and she’s sacrificed so much for him, and this is how he repays her.

She gains footing and stands on her feet, grabbing desperately onto the car door, climbing back into the truck. She sees red when she starts flailing her arms, hitting him – slapping his cheeks and punching his arms, any desperate move to hurt him and hit him somewhere. She’s blindly aware of her screams when she hits him, and this is it. This is breaking point. Because this can’t go on. Not this way. Her arms stop moving, and he’s watching her when she brings her face to his and bites a “Fuck. You.” She’s sneering through her teeth – angrier than she’s been in her entire – _entire_ life.

This is betrayal. This is spite, it’s using what he knows she has left against her.

He watches her eyes and there’s understanding there, and he too knows this is it. This is pain, and it hurts too much. It’s debilitating pain that burns inside of him and he wishes he could make her understand. But this wasn’t how. He thinks he tries to say sorry, probably in his mind because her anger is burning his eyes. He wants to tell her he misses her. That he’s sorry. But he knows. Because she’s stayed and she hasn’t fought him or made it difficult and this was not the way to repay her – not after everything.

“M’sorr—” She tells him “Fuck you.” Again, before he can finish his sentence, before telling him not to apologize. She doesn’t want to hear it. He hears her slam her door shut, feeling her weight leave him. He sits there – almost stunned – both at her and himself. Because where the fuck did that come from and why did he do it?

He pulls the truck into drive and brings them back to the cabin.

He’s alone with his mind now, her silence deafening and he wonders where the fuck did that come from and why did he do it? He looks over at her and she isn’t looking back at him, and he wants to call out to her, but instead he keeps his mouth shut and keeps his foot steady on the pedal. Drives as fast as he can. Passes so many of them. Wants to get out and strangle one, maybe he’d feel better.

He pulls into the drive of the house and all the way up, and before he can open his mouth she’s out of the truck. Doesn’t care to help him carry anything in, and that’s when he sees her candle on the ground. It’s when he knows he’s done it this time.

* * *

She’s in the kitchen, sprinkling salt on a piece of meat when he comes back inside. She’s thrown her shit all around, her pack on the sofa, tilted over and the contents spilled out, her jacket tossed on the floor in front of him, her shoes in front of that and he blinks up to her before sighing, and shutting the door behind him. He walks to meet her in the kitchen, pulling things out of his own pack. He watches her as he opens the cabinets to put the cans of ravioli inside. Shitty food, he knows – but it’s somethin’ and he didn’t want her to starve. He watches her as she gracefully seasons the meat, rubbing it in with her delicate fingers and how badly he wants to reach out and grab those fingers and kiss them and make it okay.

He knows better, knows it won’t fix it. He also knows she’s only making one piece of meat. He’s on his own.

She’s eerily quiet beside him when she places the meat in the iron skillet, dragging it to the burner and flicking on the flame. He stops dead in his movements when she turns her body to him and crosses her arms. He can feel the weight of her stare, and he meets it with his own. He breathes as he watches her – this much he’s aware of. Though his body is stiff, and he isn’t sure his heart is beating.

“Don’t touch me anymore.” She says, and it’s simple – but its painful. It stabs him in his chest and his brow furrows because through it all – they still had that. That feeble connection – those late night breathless moments that made them okay. He thinks now he stops breathing. Because this scares him. This makes him collect tears in his eyes, and he tries to say her name, but collects her hand back and she slaps him before he can. His head whips around the direction of her hand and the sting on his cheek is nothing compared to the sting inside his body and it hurts – so fucking bad – cause’ _no baby girl, I need you._

He looks back to her through a curtain of hair, before watching her out of the corner of his eye because he refuses to move his head, walk around and away from him, rounding the counter before turning up the steps.

It’s hurt he hasn’t felt. Not since her. Sure, she’d hurt him – he’s hurt her. Badly. But this was it. It wasn’t because he didn’t know about her daddy or her mama or because he had taken her against her will, but because after it all, she didn’t know where home was.

* * *

More days pass, and days turn into weeks. Not sure how many, but time still moves and it’s worse than before because he doesn’t sleep with her anymore. He’s instead somewhere down the hall – nowhere she cares to know about, and the only time she comes into contact is when she goes to the kitchen to get herself food. Other than that, it’s painful silence. She doesn’t help him with chores, doesn’t do the dishes, or help him cut rabbits, or read books on the sofa. She isolates herself to the bedroom, sleeping her days away and it’s misery.

She hates to think that she misses him. Misses them. She doesn’t care to let her mind explore it. When she isn’t asleep, or eating, she’s letting her fingers wander under her waistband because she’s aching – missing contact – missing touch, and not her own.

Her fingers are enough to let herself go, her soft fingers smaller than she’s used to, but when she pushes them inside her body it’s enough to imagine it isn’t. To think about him above her, his thick fingers inside her body instead of her own.

It’s a sad sickness that overcomes her and sometimes she can’t control the urge to let the tears fall from her eyes, the need to go to him and say she forgives him – because she knows he’s sorry. But she can’t. Can’t let herself.

The thoughts are back – the memories of Rick and the truck and his hand in hers before it all went to shit. Remembers falling onto herself out of the truck, the hard ground unforgiving and she remembers the hurt he caused her. Remembers the fear he gave her – threatening her with something he knew she couldn’t possibly take.

She knows why he’d lost it. Because she’d asked to go _home_. Because in that moment, she was asking for a home different than him. And she knows he’s her home – knows this place is – but she wanted to hurt him. It just happened to make him hurt her worse in return.

Her body aches when she wakes, this day.

It’s sore all over, and she feels like she’s been hit by a bus. Maybe she has. Maybe she’s already dead – this has to be what death feels like. Her palm goes to her head, wincing at the pain, before stumbling out of the covers, her clothes clinging to her body like saran wrap and it’s stifling. She groans, tugging her shirt off, tossing it lazily to the floor as she pads to the bathroom to retrieve something for her head, her eyes opening when her feet meet the cold tile over the threshold, looking at herself in the mirror. That’s when her breath stops. When her heart stops beating. When her mouth falls open. She looks – stares at the reflection before her and her hand comes up to touch it.

Her fingers are ice when they meet her skin and they delicately touch her burning skin, causing her to flinch back, her eyes wincing together. The skin of her abdomen is taught, the skin there hard and warm. She moves her fingers over the expanse of her stomach, her palm coming to rest flat against it. The bump is evident. It’s there – visible – large – and she feels the hot tears prick her eyes. She’s been this way a while – had to have been. Her eyes drift down to her midsection and she brings both hands to rest upon her enlarged middle. Her mouth let a pained sob escape her lips, her eyes closing to cry. She sobs for a moment, loud and heavy tears leaving her – because this. This was not what she expected. Not that she didn’t think it would happen – but they’d stopped trying – stopped being so careless and she thought she was okay. She wasn’t.

She’s carrying life. His life. Her life.

Her belly was large – this much she was aware of and there was no way that she was early in. Big enough to cause her skin to stretch painfully across her ribs, the realization hitting her. They’ve been here. For a long time. Months. Maybe since the beginning.

Her arms raise to instinctively wrap around her body and she begins to fall down to the floor, sinking almost graceful, holding onto the counter and the wall behind her so that she didn’t hurt herself – or them.

It was like hitting her in the face with a brick of reality – after all of this – there they were. Surely, the stress would’ve been too much – and maybe it was, maybe they hid in there so long as they could – until they got too big and needed more room. Maybe they didn’t want her to see them because they didn’t wanna be there – didn’t ask to be. It’s the sick irony of it all. Creating life that didn’t ask for permission. Did it anyway. Selfish. Her belly contracts and the pain hits her hard, her nerves getting the better of her. Her hands caress it, rubbing the mound almost lovingly – and she probably does love it – she has to, it’s part of her, and didn’t she know this would happen? Didn’t she prepare her mind for it? A part of him inside her – half of him and half of her, something they made _together_. In their wicked games, they created life. Something that can breathe and one day will possess speech, use its legs to walk, and something that brought more love in seconds than she’s known in her entire life – even more love than she has for _him_.

Her head leans back against the sink cabinet with a thud, her eyes closing to breathe deep. She cries and asks them where they’ve been all this time.

Her laugh escapes her lips, before climbing back up off of the floor and looking at herself once again. Memorizing the shape of her body, turns to the side to see how large she really is, and she’s large – for her. There’s a mound there, where it didn’t use to be, protruding like it’s proud, and she is. She’s growing a human inside of her. _His_ human. This perfect human that didn’t want them to know they were there. The one who didn’t give her any signs, didn’t make her sick, and didn’t make her cry her eyes out when he was cross with her.

_Where did you come from?_

_Where have you been all this time?_

Her feet back her up and she pulls the waistband of her pants down, rolling them down her legs as she’s walking, because her heart is racing and she can't move out of the door fast enough - to get out of this room, to get to him, and she's pulling them off almost viciously as she pads down the hallway to the staircase. The chill of the house hits her skin almost immediately, causing it to pebble like a plucked chicken, but her feet carry her down the stairs and her nipples turn hard like metal, almost painful. She rounds the steps and she looks up to see him bounding in the front door with firewood, kicking the door shut with his boot behind him which she knows takes strength, and she takes in the frigid temperature, him in that thick coat, the fluffy white covering the ground and the sky in spring in Georgia.

_What a day._

Finally, her body stills, and her breathing comes to a halt as she stands there, watching him, out of breath as he looks up, his eyes roaming her legs and upwards, but he doesn’t get to her eyes.

His body is heaving, clearly tired from hacking the wood he’s carrying in his arms. His eyes are fixated on her and she thinks he’s in shock. She watches him, closer than she thinks she's ever watched him and the feeling is exhilarating - like electricity coursing through her body and touching every single nerve in her body and it's making her hands shake, her body shivering from the cold already. She's on the edge of losing control and screaming at him but she doesn’t because she's better than that, but she still laughs the same when he calls her name.

The firewood cackles to the floor in the most ear pinching way, but she doesn’t wince.

"Look, Daryl. You see, don't you?" She asks and now she's stepping forward, and his body is slacken, his arms sluggish next to him - too still for her comfort but it's when she stills because he moves when she thinks he's crying. He's moving towards her, too occupied to bother taking off the leather gloves on his hands before he puts them on her. Cool leather gracing her already cool and pebbled skin, and his hands roam like he's exploring, but he is because she knows for certain that he _is_ in disbelief, similar to her - because they didn’t expect this. Not anymore.

Figured that when she didn’t start puking that they were okay. She thought she was okay. Wasn’t like she talked about it with him. He though - maybe he was disappointed. Her body shakes with the cold, and he wraps his arms around her body, holding her to him. His face is buried in her skin, pressing open mouthed kisses to her abdomen and he mouths that he's sorry on her skin. She feels his lips and she can tell what they say by the feel of it, and she only says that she knows before she pushes on his shoulders with her palms, away from her. He looks up into her face and she stares back with what she can only explain as worship. Because she’s so drawn to him – has this need like nothing she’s ever felt before and it physically hurts when he isn’t around – doesn’t have to be next to her, but near her…just so she knows he’s there, she needs him. So intensely. Almost sickeningly so. Because he's inside of her. Something he gave her - something his body made with her and it's an overwhelming urge.

Her fingers find his shoulders and they rub for a moment before fingering the folds of his coat, her hands sliding underneath to feel the warmth of his skin and she shudders – because it’s been so long. _Too_ long, and she misses him. She pushes his coat off of his shoulders with need and he shrugs it off without hesitation, raising his hands back up to grip her hips and bring her back to him, but she shrugs him away and lifts his shirt over his head, telling him to help her.

He stands, unbuttoning his jeans, his mouth hungry when it locks with hers. He's ducking down to remove his pants, her head following him down and back up when he gets them there and when he goes to lift her off of the ground, she tells him no. His brows furrow, looking like she's insulted him, but she pushes on his shoulders and he kneels in front of her again, and she runs her hands through his hair and tells him "no more."

He looks at her like he's puzzled, but really, he has to understand because there was that between them - the unspoken understanding and she really hopes he already knows. "No more of this. I'm here - we're here and now we have _this_." She says, and her voice is near velvet and he wants to smile because he won't. He swears it.

"Promise, girl. Be with me." He says and she knows what he means. What he's asking and she's ready for it, but she knows that if she gives in that she's susceptible to him. To everything he throws her way and while she _would_ do anything for him, it's an undeniable fear still kept inside of her that this may be her last straw. Last tie to the outside world - _whatever_ is left of it.

What he means, what he's asking is for her to _give in_. She knows this. Knows that he's asking her to surrender and she wonders how he doesn't know that she already _has_. So many months ago. She wishes he had, too. She begged for his life. Begged to stay with him. Begged not to be taken home – where she probably belongs.

So she tells him, shaking her head. Tells him she's been with him since the beginning. Tells him it's time for _him_ to be with _her_. Really with her.

He looks at her and his eyes tell her more than she needs to know. Show her how sorry he is. How humiliated. How disgusted. She sees it there. The flashes of glaze on top of his iris’. The sorrow, and disappointment. Not in her but in himself. Because she knows he’s better. She looks all around her and she _undoubtably_ knows it. How much he cares for her – how much he aches for her, how much he depends on her – for _everything_.

"Swear it, girl. So fuckin' sorry. For everythin'." She thinks maybe he's crying, and it's when she looks into his eyes that she can see that he is. She watches his lips tremble, quiet sobs coming from him, his breath huffing to keep himself from losing it completely. _It breaks her_.

Completely _destroys_ her.

She lowers herself on her knees in front of him, cups his face in her hands and he looks down, away from her. Never has he done this. Always locking his eyes with her, keeping her gaze. Never hurt enough to look away from her when she’s right there. She tries to wipe the free falling tears from his eyes, and hell if this doesn't hurt. Makes her heart ache to watch him weep, to watch the sorrow in front of her and its beckoning to be coddled, so she does. She tugs his face into hers and kisses him harder than she means to, her body moving up to meet his, so that her belly is poking his and he groans at the contact, his hands coming up to grip at her sides, pulling her into him as close as he can and he kisses her back with the most need he can understand, his tongue brushing against hers in a fire dance, her heat on his lips urging him on and their lips touch together like glitter and it’s like finally finding home again. Because it’s been gone for so long.

She breaks away from him, catching her breath and it’s then that he tells her.

"I love you, sweet girl." His hand comes up to rest on her cheek, his thumb pad brushing her cheek in the gentlest but most tender way and she closes her eyes to revel in it. His warm almost sweaty palm against her cheek, the loving stroke of his thumb against her skin. She thinks, hopes she tells him that she loves him too.

Because _oh_ , she does.

Her hand comes up to grip his wrist, and she so willingly leans back in because she needs him. Needs to feel him and she kisses him again, his other hand gently pushing her shoulder backwards into the wooden floor, the cold contact familiar and he breaks his lips from hers to trail down her neck before making their way to her breasts. His mouth closes so gently on her left nipple, his other hand leaving her face to ever so lightly pinch the other one between where his thumb meets his hand, cupping her breast in his palm, squeezing gently.

The moan escapes her lips without her knowing, natural, because it’s been what seems like forever that she’s has his hands on her this way. And maybe she never has had his hands on her this way – this gentle, tender, _loving_. Maybe this is the first time she’s being touched by this man in a way that shows her that he really does love her. That he didn’t do any of this with malice, but because he truly needed her. Had to have her here and knew that she needed to be here just as much.

Maybe because he knew that they needed each other. Had to be together – meant to be together. Meant to make this together. It’s not sick. It’s revolting in the most honest upheaval of love.

His hands have moved down to her stomach, and he’s peppering kisses that are all but light on her skin, his fingers caressing the tightness there, and it’s such a palliative feeling – her moans of delight true and wholly sincere and she really doesn’t want him to stop. She only opens her eyes when she hears him.

“Thank you.” The words are quiet, but they’re there and she opens her eyes and they lock into his without search, and tears are in his eyes again, but she doesn’t want him to cry – not anymore, because it’s okay now.

She can’t think of anything to say but a simple ‘ _welcome’_. Because truly, she’d done it all. She’s harbored this thing inside of her. Kept it safe in the most trying of times – through turmoil and malice and he truly is thankful to her – because as careless as he’d been by asking her – or forcing her to take him inside of her that way, she’s accepted enough to keep him there. Bloom him into her – into something else – _something beautiful._

_And he couldn’t have done that alone._

“Promise I’ll take care’a you. Both of ya’.” She know he means it. Know’s he’ll do everything in his power to keep them safe. She isn’t worried. She trusts him.

“I know, Daryl.” It’s simple but its reassurance and she knows he needs it. Her voice is breaking because as much as she needed this – all to come to a head and break through, she needs him right now and he’s so close to where she needs him and it’s almost intolerable. She practically mews a ‘ _please’_ for him.

“I’ve got you, girl.” He tells her simply before leaving one hand resting on her belly, before nosing his way in between her legs and she’s kept up with keeping herself shaven because she prefers it this way, and as long as there’s hot water and a razor, she didn’t want to let it go. She knows he loves it too. Her head nearly slams the floor when he ever – so – gently touches her clit with his tongue and it’s the tightest bundle of nerves that’s oh so sensitive – maybe more so now, and she cries it in the highest power of ecstasy. His tongue continues to poke at her bud, coming to flatten against her labia and tracing down to her entrance, teasing it with the tip, rimming it with his wetness and she’s practically crying, begging him for _more_.

She hears that gravel voice and it’s enough to send her over the edge. “So wet.” He beings his pointer finger to trace over her slit, so aroused, before sliding inside. She moans as he slowly probes her insides, forcing through the tender tight flesh of the inside of her canal. He pulled completely away from her, looking up at her before slipping two fingers into her. She attempted to tip her head back, but his free hand comes to the back of her neck, holding her head to come forward, telling her to open, looking into her eyes. Her breath catches and she opens her mouth to form the most perfect little ‘o’ while rocking on his hand. Reaching up, she places her hands on his forearms where they touch her. He doesn’t stop her, instead, he uses his thumb to gently rub over her clit. She squeals and he repeats the motion a few times.

As he watches her reach her climax, his fingers slow, rocking her through, memorizing her face while she comes, before slowly pulled his fingers from her and releasing her neck. She tips her head forward towards her chest, towards where he lies beneath her, and she watches with high eyes as he brings his fingers to his own lips and sucks them clean. One at a time like he’s licking ice cream off of them, the thickness of them glistening with him and her and she smiles like the devil she may be, and giggles.

Tells him he’s wild.

He smirks at her and tells her to get up.

“Get, girl.” He says abruptly, pulling her arms towards him – gentle but persistent and he pulls her into his lap before she can blink enough to let the blood flow back into her head, and she lulls it back without trying, his hand coming up to catch her. His fingers tangle in her blonde locks and he massages there, her eyes fluttering in content, before slipping his hand away and under her bottom to fix her on top of him.

Her legs instinctively wrap around his back and they’re both sitting, her on top of his thighs and he lowers her so easily onto himself, both of them moaning in complete gratified. His hard and bulbous head pokes through her folds with what feels like a pop before sheathing the rest of himself into her. It probes through her mountainous membranes and he growls in the most Daryl – like sound, his voice like river rocks and it sends shivers down her spine.

“Love you so fuckin’ much, girl, gonna show you how much.” She doesn’t doubt his words and she knows he’ll show her just how much and he’ll worship her because he couldn’t lose her again. Knows he wouldn’t survive it again.

Doesn’t know if she would either.

"Tell me you want me." She calls of him.

He looks at her, his eyes intense and it burns her. “ _Oh_ ” He stresses, “ _Girl_ , you ain’t got no _idea_ how much I _want_ you.” He’s honest and he means his words, stretching her with himself, withdrawing before thrusting his cock into her terribly slowly, making sure she adjust, holding her by her ass with such stiffness, his cock strains inside of her – as deep as he can be and she’s keening on top of him. She manages to nod at him, signaling him to pick up his pace. Tells him to “ _fuckin’ move, Daryl_!” She mewls out his name ever so slowly like a sweet kitten and he smiles into her lips before kissing her with fire and thrusting in and out of her quicker, but deep all the same.

"Oh, baby, please, oh my go---oh yes!” Her voice seems several octaves higher than he’s used to and he knows she can’t control it, but he’s smiling in the most wicked way because it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard from her and her mouth is able to make the most perfect sounds because of him. It’s exhilarating.

"Look at me.” He orders her and she doesn’t hesitate to comply immediately. Doesn’t have any problem looking at him – could – would do it forever. She can feel her walls tighten around him and she knows she’s that much closer to her second orgasm. He lets out a loud groan as she clenches her walls around him while she looks him directly in his eyes, tight walls gripping his dick over and over again. He’s the one mewling like a kitten, his pitch higher and it’s _delightful_. Her mouth pricks into a smile. Then he’s there again.

His voice is pleading, like a kid who sucked in helium. "You take my dick like such a good girl. So obedient.” A sinister laugh emerges from her lips as she rocks on top of him, moving and meeting his rhythm, and those words make him feel that much better inside of her. She plays his game too.

She looks at him when she asks him with her highest pitch, "please let me cum, _daddy_! You feel so good." It’s threatening and she isn’t sure how he will react. She watches, but she isn’t sure she cares the outcome because she knows better than to think he’d stop.

He growls.

Fucking growls like an animal and he leans forward to squeeze her clit between his thumb and pointer finger and she screams. Screams like she’s in pain and she thinks she is, because it does hurt but in the best and most baleful of ways. She then laughs and shivers, leaking out of her body onto him. The best pleasure comes from pain – maybe.

“Want me ta be your daddy, sweet girl?” He’s mewling in the roughest of ways and she smiles devilishly and nods. “Gonna be _both’a_ our daddies.” She replies and he smiles with the same repour, and it _is_ sick. He bites her lip before tracing his tongue tenderly across it and tells her she’s right.

"Cum on me. Be a good girl." He replies back in pure ecstasy. Her eyes roll back in bliss and she comes all over him, crying out with the pleasure. His breath becomes unsteady and sweat beads and leaks down from his face. She can tell he's reaching his limit. He can’t take much more. He periodically stops to give her breasts a squeeze, electing even louder cries from her panting mouth, still riding waves. She has no idea how a man can possibly be so good at pleasuring anyone. Wonders where he’s learned. It's unlike anything she’s ever felt.

"Tell me you love this cock, girl." He says slamming into her harder than he has before, while bringing one hand to wrap around her throat, choking her with one hand and leaving the other on her hips to pull her into him.

She practically shouts. "I love your dick, Daryl!" She screams while he blocks her airways in the softest of ways. With those words he moves the hand from her throat back down to her clit, moving his hand and rubbing at the perfect pace.

"Fuck, baby! Please - just like _that_. Yeah! It feels so _good_!" She’s crying out, encouraging him to keep going. He slams into her a few more times as she screams out his name. He practically orders her to climax with little regard to how close she actually is after just barely coming down from her last one, and he continues rubbing her. Her body is weak and she’s mewling like a tired baby, but she can’t deny the feeling between her legs and it’s almost – _almost_ too much.

"I want you to come like a good girl. Can you do that for me, baby girl?" He’s coaching her through the waves and she’s nearly laughing at the taunt of it all.

"I will.” She says simply but it takes so much effort, as she clamps her already tender walls, pushing herself over the edge and she spills out once again onto his shaft. She heard him groan again, saying ‘yes’ over and over.

"That's such a good girl. Mine.” He nearly whimpers, using his finger that was on her to tip her chin up to meet his eyes. She looks at him so lazy, so tired, so spent. “Beg for me to fill you up." He says, fingering the hair above her forehead away with the hand that was grabbing her hip and he keeps thrusting with all of the power of his legs.

She looks into his eyes and they dance together, and it’s twisted into the perfect combination of sickness and sweetness and she purrs. "Please come in me, Daryl." She’s panting, desperate to feel all of him. Needs it. Needs it now. Doesn’t know how much longer she can wait. That’s when she feels the hot spurts inside of her.

"There you go,” He coddles because she’s done so well, “good girl." He grunts deep, spilling out all of his seed into her body.

He gives a few more slight movements as he grows soft within her, keeping his eyes locked with hers. He thumbs her belly again, and she places her hand over his.

“Made him this way.” She says, earning a nod from him and he smiles at her in the most sincerely loving way before leaning down to catch her lips in his, soft. He rejoices in appreciating her submission to him and he can’t believe how perfectly beautiful she looks while she does it. Kisses her deeper to let her know he’s giving her the same submission back. 

"Beth," he starts and she looks to him, he hand raising to rest on his cheek, the pain there evident, knowing. "So fuckin’ sorry, girl.” He’s stroking her hair like he’s fumbling desperately for help, “For everything. Ya' deserve a _hellova_ lot better than me." Hanging his head, she raises it with her hand and kisses him chaste.

"Don’t. I want to be here. Always did. If I didn’t…nothin' woulda' stopped me. Ya gotta know that." Her voice is quiet, but he gets it because she's nothing short of honest, and he'd felt that burn when he went to that diner every day.

"Would go there for you. Coffee was gross." He's smiling now, and she laughs, needing to know but always really knowing, but hearing it clears her mind of all negative. He's always been there. It was always her. Her lips curl into a smile, and she nearly cries out of happiness, though she’s known it all this time, to hear him say it is realness that her mind couldn’t give her.

"Tell me again. Tell me _really_." It's short and it's simple but he knows what she means, taking her face in his hands before peppering kisses to her lips, murmuring a "need you" against them, before her cheeks, a "always needed you", and then her other cheek, "wanted you so bad", to her neck, where he plants open mouthed lips, his tongue tracing circles against her veins and she can't help but whimper, grinding her hips into his, the over stimulation making them both jolt together.

He trails his lips down to her chest, "loved you the second I saw ya." And that’s it, she picks his face up so she can look at him and she only watches.

"Were you always gonna bring me here?" her voice is pleading, and she needs to know - maybe already knows but she needs to hear it from him.

"Hell, girl. Thought maybe I'd ask ya on a date first." He chuckles, and really it isn't funny, but without it, it may be too solemn. Tears prick her eyes and he sees, confusion across his face and she sighs in what is only content and she kisses him again, silent and quick but needed because she's relieved.

"Thank you." She whispers.

* * *

They pass time by going on runs until she’s too big, and she misses it because she loves _stuff_.

 _Junk_.

He’s come to realize this. That she might be a hoarder. They go out, and she likes to just take all that she can find. Doesn’t matter what it is. And he knows she doesn’t need the 10 past year calendars with puppy dogs all over them, or the camera with digital film, or the packs of pens with 10 each. Doesn’t need the notebooks by the 4 pack either.

Knows for certain she don’t need the plaid pillows, or the furry throw blankets, but she feels at home with them, or so she tells him, so he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t argue about the hundreds of candles she’s piled in the linen closet either. Knows she’s got some kind of obsession with those.

He can't help but laugh when she finds him in the store with all of her findings, and he always - always asks her if she really needs all of it. Her answer is always the same. "Don’t know when or if we'll get to do this again, Daryl!" And he can't fault her because she's right. They don’t know what tomorrow brings, or if they'll be able to make runs, or if they’ll be held up for too long, and so maybe he's thankful for her hoarding.

Especially when she finds food cans. Insists on taking all but one because even though she's greedy, she's remorseful, and she don’t wanna leave the place empty. Interesting way her mind works, his girl.

His girl.

He's never been more thankful. Thankful that he'd be able to get back what he lost.

She's extra greedy with any kind of baby stuff, and he can't blame her. Encourages her rather. Because his kid needs shit. Don't need to worry about someone else's. He tells her she doesn’t need a crib, and she's perplexed and she asks him about it over and over, but he asks her to trust him. She does, of course she does.

She’d found the linen closet one day, and she’d found the other room that same day. The ones she meant to ask him about.

There were 2 other bedrooms with regular beds. That wasn’t startling for her. Another bathroom, the linen closet, and then _that_ room.

The nursery. With the crib and a rocker and blankets and clothes and baby toys and bottles, diapers, and everything she could possibly need. And she’s floored. Nearly falls onto her knees only at the scent.

Just the scent – of baby and powder and _new_ , and wood, and she finds him to ask. She knows the answer already, but she needs to.

His answer is simple, and she didn’t shouldn’t have expected anything more. He tells her she’s young. Knew she wanted babies. Rubs her belly when he tells her, makes her flutter her eyes closed.

She doesn’t let her mind delve too deep because yes – it’s still not right for normal, but it’s right for her and she _thanks_ him. Thanks him for all of it and for _him_ and for this house and every single thing in it.

They’ve become almost platonic, and she’s more than okay with it. She’s come to love the routine, and that he wants to shower with her every chance he can because it’s an excuse to touch her – touch their baby and it’s only taken her months to even acknowledge that. To call it what it is.

To explore the idea of a baby inside of her.

Happens easily when she feels him move. Nearly makes her jump from her skin when she feels it, lying in bed, half asleep and she screams. He jumps out of his skin surely, because the covers fly off of them and he’s almost on top of her with worry. When she realizes though. The tears slow from her and she weeps because she’s so engorged and she’s so hormonal already and it’s more than too much. He doesn’t mean to laugh at her, but he coaxes her through it and convinces her that it’s alright and that she can feel it. Pulls her face to him, her hand too and places it on top, to where she can feel. And she does. Feels what she thinks is feet, but it moves too quickly to be sure, almost like a flutter.

But then it’s more and its like watching an alien inside of her. The wildest, strangest, most un-human like thing she could think of happening inside of her own body. It’s especially wild when she can feel his face pressing into her, feel the small poke of his nose against her skin, she can tell because the round of his head always follows his nose before his feet kick her by her chest. It’s takes her breath away every time.

Daryl is there more than she is – if that’s possible. He’s inside of her, but he’s there more. Always near her, holding, her back, her front, her side, her face, her neck. Always touching her and it’s so much more than welcome.

He’s especially attentive now, when its what they can assume is almost time, and she can hardly even pee in privacy – not that it matters. He’s always asking – wondering if she’s alright. Nearly suffocating her, but she knows he means no ill. Thanks him always. He always tells her not to.

It’s early in the morning when the sun rises that she jolts up from the sofa and groans loudly. He’s making them breakfast, still dirty after an early hunt, and he’s next to her before she can call for him. He knows more than she does – she definitely knows this. Has been studying like his life depends on it.

It actually does.

Her water breaks and it spills onto the hardwood floor, a total mess, and she’s in too much pain to begin to try to care. She groans in discomfort before tugging her pants down. Doesn’t try to care about that either. Huffs when she cant get her pant leg over her foot, and he’s holding her arm to keep her balance, pulling the pant leg off with ease.

“Fuck, Daryl!” she cries, gripping his arm. Her nails dig into his skin and he’s not making a sound – because he’s stronger than her – doesn’t bother him. Though now, she may be stronger than she thinks. She cries out again, and she knows her contractions are too close for comfort. That second one nearly knocks her on her knees.

“Come on.” He coaxes her gently, leading her into the bathroom. Pulls out towels and a yoga mat, because she already told him she didn’t want to ruin the bed or the sofa and she wanted the bathtub there just in case. Decided the main level was the best, had the largest floor space as well as the largest bathtub.

She barely makes it through the threshold before gripping his arm again, huffing out a low moan as she felt the baby drop inside her. She keens with noise and cries his name, telling him that the baby is _low_.

He grips her arm back, hoping to soothe her, pressing his lips to her forehead as he lowers her down to the floor.

“Breathe through it, girl. I know it hurts,” his familiar voice is rough and so soothing, helping her relax despite the anxiety opening within her. This was her first baby. First time of it all, and she didn’t have the internet or chat rooms or Lamaze classes to help her prepare. Hell, she didn’t even know this baby existed until she was almost halfway through making him. Of course she was nervous. Still, having him here, knowing that at least _he_ had planned helped her ease. 

She feels him fingering the bottom of her shirt, and he asks her if she wants to keep it. She’s already beading with sweat and she doesn’t even bother to answer him before tearing it above her head. He helps her tug it over her and throws it over the tub for later. Probably never, actually.

She can feel him watching her and she looks down to him and he almost looks remorseful. “Gotta check you, see if you’re…dilated.” He tells her gently, and she almost laughs because “Daryl, just fuckin’ do it.” Doesn’t need to tell her. They’ve been expecting this - more than so. More like begging for it. She can't take it anymore - too big and too exhausted. She’s huffing, annoyed, and she watches him flinch – and she knows he’s trying. Trying so fucking hard. So she sighs and recounts.

“I trust you,” she whispers, leaning back into the door of the vanity, the knob poking hard into her back. She spreads her legs, her feet coming to her sides, and she couldn’t care less about pride right now, really doesn't have any. Let him get in there and check because she wanted this baby out.

She watches him and he rolls his sleeve up, a careful finger coming to nudge her puffy labia just before it prodded her quivering hole.

Her nerves get the better of her and she can’t help the shakes that overtake her body. She’s almost thankful because she knows she has to be dilated, and she knows that labor lasts days for some. But nothing about this baby thus far has showed her any classic ways of pregnancy, and she’s grateful he hasn’t started now. His mouth opens and his voice is hoarse when he tells her “Shhh,” a way to calm her as he poked his finger inside, and she whimpered in discomfort, his fingers feeling inside her widening passage.

She shuts her eyes because watching him is too intimate, and she breathes a sigh of relief when withdraws and tells her “You’re almost ready.” Leaning, as she felt her back and belly tighten once more, she felt a slight feeling of anticipation blooming inside her. They had discussed everything before this day had come, him wanting to be sure she was okay with everything they planned. Found it in one of the books. As it turned out, she was willing for anything as long as it distracted her from labor.

So, watching with fire in her eyes, she allows him to press a small purple handle between her puffy lips, whimpering as a gentle buzzing began. As sick as it may be, it almost felt good, despite what her body was currently doing. “Daryl,” she breathed, nuzzling her shoulder, biting back a moan.

“Right here, girl,” husked his unsteady voice as the vibration increased. She notices that his voice is almost as nervous as she felt but was hiding it exceedingly well. Soon, she was tightening her legs closer to her body, opening herself to him, and as easily as he always found, fluid poured onto the towel, and she can’t help the flush that rises to her cheeks, heavily as she realized just what had happened. Whimpering, she hid her burning face in her arm, panting softly as she tried to focus on the vibrator against her clit. 

“You got this, my sweet girl.” He’s keening to her, and she can’t help the moan that escapes her lips, while not conventional, none of this is.

Then she was straightening, moaning quietly when she’s brought back to reality as she felt her baby sitting low in her body. She could feel it moving downward, and she tells him she can feel him. “S’ good. What’s supposed to happen.” His words are comforting ang gentle and he squeezes her leg with the most tender hands, his warmth all reassuring.

Thankfully, he squeezes her knee and kisses it as she breathed through the extreme urge to push. She tells him.

“Daryl, I gotta push – I can’t…” She’s groaning at the discomfort and its most discomforting because she’s trying so hard, using all of her restraint not to, and when he tells her she can’t yet, she huffs out a breath. Pushing now would only increase the amount of work she had to put in. That she also knew. “Gotta wait til’ ya’ crown.” He tells her, and the pressure on her knee with his fingers increase, a groan turning to a moan and back again, the pressure and urge were nearly undeniable. It was only the distraction that he provided that kept her grounded, his gravel voice doing wonders to keep her focused. It always had. It also helped that she was so reactive to just his presence from years of watching him. 

“Almost there baby girl.” He’s so encouraging, and she knows he’s nervous. Whimpering, her body could only nod, her blonde bangs hanging slightly in her face as she found herself held together by two hands. She looks up and into his eyes. “Scared...” she whispered in the smallest voice as he followed her with his eyes. Removing one of the hands on her knees to kiss her knuckles, he gives her a smile as his eyes met hers carefully.

“I know, girl, but I’m right here. Ain’t goin’ no where. Doin’ this together. You an’ me. Ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to ya’,” assured his gruff voice as she moved her hands to grip the towel under her naked bottom.

He moves to her quick, giving her lips a chaste but loving kiss, and he knelt in front of her placing himself right between her shuddering thighs. Careful fingers spread her open, feeling her entrance, and it nearly takes her entire body of being not to tense or pull back. To say it was uncomfortable would be an understatement, but she tolerated it. Thankfully, it didn’t last too long, and he nods to her, encouraging when he pulls his fingers away. 

“Next contraction, push.” He tells her, tossing away the vibrator. It’s haste that he doesn’t realize, and she tenses, bracing for how much pain she was nearing. The low whimper catches him and he looks sharply to her, and his eyes soften. He knows. So, with a low, gruff noise, he began to gently manipulate her bud with his fingertip.

“S’alright, girl. Gonna be amazin’.” He tells her and he means it, love pouring into her.

She responds with a slow, quiet moan, tilting her head back as she relaxed a bit. Silently thanks him. All too soon, another contraction crashes into her body, a desperate noise escaping her as she felt the baby’s head begin to spread her open. Almost helplessly, she began to push, gritting her teeth when she felt a slight burn. He doesn’t mean to scare her when he too loudly says “ _fuck_ ”, and his hand leaves her core, coming to grip her knee as he watches, and she’s pushing – hard, feeling their child slowly enter the world.

It’s almost exhilarating and her adrenaline is coursing through her, able to feel the forehead gradually sliding free, followed by the eyes, nose and the chin. It’s the strangest feeling in the entire world, and she can’t exactly see past her belly, but she wants to see, because she can feel the features and she wonders whose they are. It releases with a pop, and he tells her to stop pushing, reaching for the bulb to clear out the baby’s airway, and she cries when she hears him cry. Her sob is commencing – all of this for this little person, this little voice. She glances down and sees him outside of her.

She looks up to him and she isn’t surprised by the tears rimming his lids. It’s like the highest shot of morphine you’ve ever taken – the rush of life emerging. Not just any life – their life. She barely hears him when he tells her she can push, because she already is, and she feels the shoulders come free, her mouth retching open to scream out, his arms flailing free.

The relief was so great, she collapsed backwards with a quiet groan, closing her eyes as she did her best to gather her strength for the last stretch. Gritting her teeth, she gave it her all when the next spasm came. “You’re doin’ it, baby.” his roughened voice as she felt it slide free amongst a final gush of fluids.

She catches her breath and manages to glance down to him, lip quivering, holding their wrinkled, flailing baby in his arms and she’s crying too. Asks him if he’s okay. He nods, and looks into her eyes, and it’s like she can feel them in her brain.

“She’s just fine.” He says, her mind absorbing and she sighs and smiles because isn’t that just right? After it all, all of the crazy and the abnormality about it all, this tops it. Because of course her instinct was wrong. Of course, _she_ wasn’t a he. Suddenly feels sorry for ever thinking she was.

“Take her, girl. Gotta be with you.” His voice is gravel, tired, his arms covered in blood, and it’s almost scary, but he’s cleaned her so well and the cord dangles from her belly, so tiny and so fragile and she takes her from his arms, crying at the relief as her warm slimy body touches her skin and she smiles at him, reaching. He meets her with fire, and she kisses him like she hasn’t before because this isn’t just anything. This is thank you. This is ‘we did it’. This is ‘I owe you my life’. This is _‘I love you’_.

The baby between them wails loudly, and she breaks away from him, holding her gaze, on fire, gratitude and wonder in both of their eyes as if the adrenaline hasn’t stopped its course. They'd made this baby together, once upon a time. Maybe it was their first, second, third time. But it was between them, when they connected, and he's given her this gift, but she's brought it into the world.

It's a riveting feeling, one she's never experienced, and she knows that somewhere inside of her she knows that the other feeling she's had this entire time hasn’t been right, but right all the same. Because she's always been drawn to him, since she can remember and she'd begged a higher power to bring him to her and somehow, she was answered in the most misery inducing way, but the most powerful way all the same. He's saved her from inexplicable pain, and while hurting her in the process, she'd do it all again.

"Amelia, what do you think?" her thumb comes to graze her cheek, so small and so fragile, and she wishes she could understand but maybe she does, because surely inside is better than out here, but she's determined to make it so that out here is so much better. For her, for them.

He looks up at her in admiration, and really, he is amazed - at all of it. “S’perfect.”

Her belly burns with pain but also the fire she’d felt every time she watched him stride into her diner.

He moves close to her, kisses her lips hard with gratitude and fire, and thanks _her_.

For everything. For being here, for bearing him, for _staying_. For giving him _her_.

* * *


End file.
